Brittle Balance
by bompeii
Summary: Shawn wakes up 20 years younger than he should be and he has to convince everyone it's really him. But when they search for an explanation, things become even more complicated, with Shawn's life hanging on the line. What happens when the line breaks? Shules. COMPLETE.
1. I Hate Mondays

A/N: This story was based off of the episode "Fragile Balance" of Stargate SG-1, though I promise there aren't any aliens (maybe).

Disclaimer for entire story: I don't own Psych. If you think I do, despite looking totally opposite to Steve Franks, than good on ya. Have fun in the mental asylum, you crazy person!

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><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 1: I Hate Mondays_

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><p>The first thing Shawn noticed was this was not where he fell asleep last night. This was not his cozy warm bed or even his mildly comfortable couch. It wasn't even his carpeted floor, which could only mean one thing – he wasn't at his apartment.<p>

That scared him, because it made absolutely no sense.

The second thing he realized, which Shawn probably should've noticed before the first thing like a normal person would, was that he was really wet. Like, completely drenched, not damp-under-the-legs-I-had-an-accident wet. That didn't happen to him anymore; he wasn't five years old.

When Shawn tried to open his eyes, a strange weight pressed down on his lids, keeping them closed. When he attempted to move his arms and legs, the same thing happened, only there was just enough success to help him understand what was preventing him from moving. It was the weird wetness, although it was more like a strange gelatin that was moist but partially solid.

_Have I been swallowed by a jello monster?_ Shawn wondered, trying to open his mouth to talk. He could feel something covering his face, a mask of some sort. An inhale brought clean, almost flawless air into his lungs, as well as something else – something a little heavier.

The grogginess from his sleep quickly evaporated, evolving into sheer panic. He was not meant to be here, wherever _here_ was. He was supposed to be in bed, safe and sound and snoring, not covered in some sort of jelly - especially when there wasn't any peanut butter.

The air he breathed got heavier and heavier, until he could barely suck in a lungful. A horrible realization struck Shawn like lightning when he went to take another breath and nothing happened.

_I'm suffocating!_

Air. He needed air _now!_

His struggles proved useless at first, but desperation drove him into a mad frenzy, and his strength felt like it doubled within seconds. His arms stretched the weird moist goo around him as Shawn pushed them around, and his neck strained to make his head turn and seek out a new source of oxygen.

_Can't … breathe… I can't…_

As quickly as his strength came, it vanished, leaving him to weakly fight against this strange cocoon he was caged in. After a couple of moments, he stopped moving altogether, and though his eyes were closed, the edges of his vision started to go even blacker. Shawn tried one last time to get his breath back, just as he heard a low humming sound reverberate all around him. It was almost … mechanical.

It took him a confused, breathless moment to realize the wetness was draining away from him. Coldness that could only be described as dry air struck the top of his head first, then his closed eyelids, and finally his throat. As the chilling sensation, which was like pin-pricks of ice poking in every pore of his body, crept down lower, he felt the mask covering his face being removed, exposing his lips and nose to the same cold air.

_Air!_

Shawn gasped, and the result was a huge coughing fit that he was unable to control. Sweet, sweet oxygen filled his lungs, only to be expelled quickly by the forceful hacking.

A soft, comforting hand was on each shoulder, holding him upright as he coughed. He didn't know who was there with him, if they were friend or foe, but he was in no position to find out. He heard a quiet mumble, incoherent to his ears, before the hands vanished.

Another inhale brought something else to Shawn's nose – a rancid, oily smell that reminded him of burnt rubber. It made him gag reflexively, and a hand reached up to cover his mouth to prevent the vomit. It took him a moment to realize it was his own hand this time.

He was free from the jello.

And he didn't even feel that cold anymore. Okay, yes he was a little chilly, but he was getting used to the fresh air – which was much preferable to the claustrophobic feeling of the suffocating wetness. Its sting against his skin wasn't as strong as before, either.

After the coughing fit ended and his nose got used to the revolting scent, Shawn decided it was time to figure out what the hell was going on.

To do that, he had to open his eyes.

And thus he did.

A mere second into blinking them open, he screwed them shut again, trying to block out the unusually bright lights above his head. Why – _why_ – would someone have supernova bright lights in … wherever he was? Did they _wish_ they would go blind? Or were they already blind, so they didn't care?

Whatever. Shawn had to focus, had to find out what was happening. So, slowly and carefully – preparing himself for the burning flares against his retinas – he peeled back his eyelids one at a time. This time around it wasn't that bad, but his eyes still felt like the moisture was getting sucked out of them by a very small vacuum. They were incredibly dry, in other words, and that hurt like hell.

He didn't know how much time had passed since he opened them and waited for the fuzziness to clear, but when he could finally see his surroundings, he was confused beyond comprehension. And maybe a little bit scared, too.

Okay. A _lot_ scared.

The intensity of the lights wasn't as bad as before, making him wonder why they were so unbelievably bright before. Shawn was lying down on a cold tile floor, and the smell of antiseptic was everywhere. It blended nastily with the strange overcooked rubber stench, making him gag a second time. He had even more trouble keeping down the bile once again, not really wanting a return taste of his beef burrito he ate for dinner last night. From his perspective on the floor, Shawn could see the underside of a small silver table on his left, as well as the glaring light above him. He turned his head slowly to the right, feeling a stiffness that wasn't there before fight against him. Another table's bottom met his vision, but there was something on top of it … something that resembled…

_A bathtub? What the…_

Shawn was alone now. Whoever was with him before had either never existed – he had imagined stranger things when half-asleep – or they had abandoned him.

The instinct to run was slowly beginning to overpower him, and the only way to comply was to stand up. But when he looked down at himself, a slight flush of embarrassment and anger bloomed across his cheeks.

He was completely naked.

Now, this was cause for a _lot_ of alarm. The panic, which had dulled a little bit in the last couple of minutes, flared back up with double the intensity.

What the _HELL_ was going on!

This was so not normal. He needed to get out of here _now._

Pushing himself to a shaky stand, Shawn spotted a white towel on the silver table and snatched it up, only to stagger back with it in his hands. Several tools that looked a bit like a doctor's play kit were hidden underneath the towel, each one as sharp and threatening as a kitchen knife. They gleamed up at him, and Shawn wondered if inanimate objects could smile evilly.

A few of them were bloody.

Quickly wrapping the towel around his hips and holding it in place with one hand, he stumbled forward, his pace quickening with each passing second. Shawn didn't bother to look around him again, to examine his surrounding prison any longer. He could remember any details later when he was safe with Gus at Psych. It didn't have to be Psych – it could be the police station. Actually, that was preferable; heck, his father's house was preferable to this doctor's den from hell. That's what it was starting to feel like here – a queer, invasive hell that he had no right or reason to be trapped in.

There was a staircase. He didn't know where it led, but it was a start.

Shawn ran.

He almost reached the bottom step, too, before he happened to glance at his reflection in the silver table and froze in place, his eyes wide…

-::::-

Lassiter did _not_ like Mondays.

It wasn't that work was too much to handle – he could handle anything on the job. It wasn't the agony of coming to work after a nice weekend break, considering he never took weekends off and work was only agony when Spencer was there.

And there's the reason he hated Mondays: _Spencer._

Unlike Lassiter, Spencer took little vacations on the weekends and ran off to do whatever the hell kind of "fun" he did with Guster by his side. It didn't matter to Lassiter what they did, because it gave the SBPD station, as well as Lassiter personally, a peaceful rest from their idiotic antics.

And then Monday comes around, and torture-by-Spencer starts up all over again.

Lassiter sighed in frustration at the thought and looked up from his paperwork, glancing towards the station's lobby as if expecting to spot the annoying prick and his sidekick standing there, plotting their next move against him. But nobody was there except for a couple of policemen he didn't know by name and the receptionist for the day – Officer Parkinson, he thought it was.

Huh. That was a little weird. Lassiter glanced at the clock: ten thirty-three in the morning… Spencer and Guster were usually here by now, either bugging him, talking with the chief, or laughing with O'Hara for God knows what reason.

It was wrong to get his hopes up, but maybe he'd actually have a Spencer-free morning?

Shrugging in mild relief, Lassiter was about to return to his work in peace when a six-foot-tall shadow suddenly loomed over him. Setting his scowl of irritation into place, the detective looked up slowly to see the nervous face of Buzz McNab staring down at him.

"What, McNab?" he spat out. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Sorry, sir," the officer apologized. "But someone down in lock-up is asking for you."

Lassiter raised his eyebrow. "The guard? What, does he want some pointers on how to do his job right?"

Buzz shook his head. "No, sir, it's one of the prisoners. He … claims to know you personally."

"_Personally?_" Lassiter looked appalled. "Why the hell would any criminal on the streets know me 'personally'?" Only _he_ could know _them_ personally, not the other way around.

Buzz shrugged his massive shoulders before returning to his unsure state again. "That's … not all he's claiming," the big guy added, drawing out his statement with some sort of reluctance. "You'd better come see for yourself, sir."

Lassiter growled, but he stood nonetheless and marched after the giant officer. "What's this all about, McNab?" he demanded, not willing to go into this situation bare-handed.

"Well, sir, around nine thirty this morning Officers Dobbins and Randall pulled over a green Sedan for speeding on I-59," Buzz explained as they headed downstairs. "They apprehended a boy for driving without a license, and when they ran the plates they found out the car was stolen this morning."

Lassiter nodded along, vaguely remembering hearing that report from somewhere nearby while he did his paperwork. "Wasn't there something weirder about this than you're letting on?" he asked, remembering something else from the report.

"Yes, sir. The boy was wearing clothes that were three sizes too big for him, which Randall thinks were stolen, too. And … he was soaking wet."

"Wet?" Lassiter hid his confusion well, transforming it into a look of disbelief. "There's not a cloud in the sky… How did he get wet?"

"He refused to explain that, sir, and insisted upon seeing you first. Here he is…"

Buzz opened the door to lock-up and walked in, Lassiter right on his heels. They approached the first holding cell, which had only one occupant lying sprawled out on the cot as if he owned it. Lassiter cleared his throat with an air of command, narrowing his eyes at the boy.

The kid pulled tired eyes away from the ceiling and looked at the detective for merely a split-second before practically jumping to his feet. "Finally!" he exclaimed. "Lassie, I've been waiting for over an hour for you. What took so long?"

Lassiter's left eyebrow shot up at that. Only one person called him that wretched nickname…

"Who are you?" he demanded, crossing his arms. He examined the boy's hazel eyes and short brown hair, the bangs hanging limply over his forehead. Some parts were still clumped together, so he was obviously still a little damp … for whatever reason.

The boy rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. Not this again," he sighed. Then he turned his head towards Buzz. "Hey, Nabby, think you could get me that coffee I asked for about half an hour ago? I know I'm not normally this particular, but I've got a screaming headache."

Lassiter glanced at Buzz from the corner of his vision and saw the officer staring back at him expectantly, waiting for confirmation or denial. With a motion of his finger, he brought Buzz leaning down to his height so he could whisper something to him. The officer nodded and walked briskly out of lock-up, the sound of his foot-steps carrying around them as he left.

"Thanks, buddy!" the boy shouted after him, grinning a very familiar sideways grin. It didn't quite meet his eyes, though, suggesting to Lassiter that something else was running through this kid's mind.

"Care to tell me who you are now?" he asked, his face expressionless. "And why on earth would you ask for me? I don't even know you."

"Oh, come on, Lassieface," the boy drawled, walking forward towards the bars. His too large jeans fell down a bit as he did so, and he took a moment to hike them back up his waist. His eyes flashed with annoyance for barely a second. "It's me! Don't you recognize me? My voice? My handsome young features? Anything?"

Lassiter just shook his head. "You're a boy," he said, the only thing he could think of at the moment as he tried to place this kid's familiarity.

He rolled his eyes again. "You've been saying that for the last five years. Hey, guess what? You spoke and so it came to be! Maybe you've got magic mind powers, too."

Lassiter stepped forward at that. "Too?"

"Yeah, you know…" But the boy paused again to pull his pants up once more, giving Lassiter time to interrupt.

"Do you understand how much trouble you're in right now?" he said loudly. "Grand theft auto, robbery, and driving without a license. Who knows what kind of drugs are in your system as we speak, kid? Now, I did not need to deal with this bullshit this morning. So how about you tell me who the hell you are before I send you to juvie and be done with it!"

"Jeez, Lassiter. Lower your blood pressure, will you? It's not like I murdered anybody."

"Is that a confession?"

"Uh… no. Is that a coffee stain on your tie?"

Lassiter shot a quick peek down, and when he saw nothing wrong with his apparel, he looked back at the kid in exasperation.

"Made you look," the boy teased smugly. Before Lassiter could shoot a comeback, he stepped forward so his face was right between the bars. "Lassiter, I need you to believe what I tell you next. I am so done kidding around, it's not even funny." He snickered quietly at that. "Okay, it's a little funny, but what I've been through this morning is completely lacking in humor. Trust me."

Lassiter waited, staring curiously as this boy continued to speak. _Something … very familiar … something is…_

"It was me who peanut buttered your phone the other day. Gus double-dog-dared me to do it, and I can't break that kind of dare. Its bonds are too strong."

_Gus? Peanut buttered phone? What the hell…?_

"Spencer?"

The boy grinned.

And there went his peaceful morning.


	2. Identification, Please

Chapter two. I'm quite ahead on this story already, so chapter updates will happen faster at first then later on.

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><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 2: Identification, Please_

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><p>His hair was two shades darker, almost a chocolate brown instead of caramel. Shawn would probably enjoy that reference a little too much, maybe tell Karen to stop thinking about candy or her blood sugar level will spike. His eyes were bigger, too, but there was no doubt about the color being identical. And then there was the voice; though a little higher than usual, it definitely had Shawn-like qualities – especially the whiny parts.<p>

"Are you sure you heard what he said … _correctly_, Detective Lassiter?" the chief asked slowly, still staring through the window at the boy. Her, Lassiter, and Juliet were huddled in the observation room, staring past the one-way glass and watching every move the kid made. The boy was currently sitting in the chair behind the table with his legs propped up. His clothes dangled off his thin frame in bulky bags. He was staring down at his lap, up at the ceiling, across the room at the guard who was still keeping him silent company … _anywhere_ but at the mirror to his left.

It was as if he were scared of his own reflection.

Or … maybe he just wasn't used to it anymore?

Lassiter nodded silently beside her, his jaw clenched tightly. She didn't know what was running through his mind, but she had more pressing matters at hand.

"This is…" O'Hara started, trailing off in thought as she stared at her 'coworker'. Her blue eyes were as large as quarters, and Karen didn't think she blinked once since she was informed of the situation. "This is … unbelievable," she finished a couple seconds later. She pointed a little wildly at the boy. "How could _he_ be Shawn? He's, what, fifteen years old?"

"Fourteen, I think," Lassiter mumbled. Then he turned to the chief. "We need to find Spencer, the real one. We need to hunt him down and find out why this kid is declaring his identity so vehemently."

"I already called Mr. Guster and Henry. Neither of them has seen Shawn since yesterday afternoon, but they're both coming in. If anyone can confirm or deny whether or not this boy is who he says he is, it's them."

Lassiter stared at Karen as if she just admitted to seeing the Abominable Snowman with her own eyes. "Are you saying you think this is actually possible?" he asked, astonished.

Karen just shrugged. "I don't know what to think at this point, Detective. The boy could just be confused. Perhaps he has a mental disorder. When Gus and Henry arrive, we'll go in and see what his story is."

"Why wait?"

And with that said, Lassiter opened the door to the observation room and stormed out, a man on a mission. Karen didn't even get a word out to stop him before he appeared inside the interrogation room. Instead, she sighed inwardly and motioned Juliet to follow.

-::::-

Shawn looked up and couldn't hide his grin as Lassiter emerged, followed swiftly by the Chief and Juliet. He pulled his feet off of the table and let them drop limply to the ground.

"Jules!" he exclaimed, his smile widening at seeing her beautiful face. He saw her visibly wince at his usage of her nickname, and his fears that she wouldn't believe him immediately were justified. "You look rather cute in that skirt, might I say," he added, trying to turn on his charm for her benefit. He half-expected the witty banter to be returned like usual, but instead Lassiter stepped forward and smacked his hand on the table, making him jump.

"Watch it," the detective warned, his voice low and threatening. Shawn could easily imagine the older man pushing him up against the wall in a chokehold for pushing his last button. "Don't get on my nerves, _kid_."

"Aye-aye, Captain Stickypants," he mumbled, shooting Juliet a discreet wink. Her eyes were still wide and staring, and Shawn tilted his head to the side. "Why do you look like you've just seen a ghost, Jules? I'm not dead, you know."

"Young man…" Vick started, saving Juliet the trouble of finding her voice.

"Chief, please," he interrupted, raising his hand. "I'm not as young as I look, but thank you for the compliment. I'll be sure to remember it on your next birthday."

"And when is that, may I ask?"

Shawn couldn't resist a knowing smile. "Your birthday? May 13th – a marvelous date, by the way, unless it ends up being on a Friday."

Vick narrowed her eyes at him, but he just grinned back up at her innocently. He knew that question was a test and that there were more like them to come. He needed to convince his friends – and Lassiter – that it was really him, or who knows where they'll put him?

Before Lassiter could shoot twenty questions at him at once, however, the door opened up again, revealing a reserved Buzz McNab. He held a white Styrofoam cup in his hands, and steam rolled off the top in small puffs.

"I have Shawn's … um, well… I have the boy's drink, sir," he said to Lassiter.

"Finally!" Shawn belted out, rising to a stand as Buzz walked in. His pants fell down for about the trillionth time, and he yanked them back up to the middle of his waist as he accepted the cup. "Thank you, my good man," he added, giving Buzz an exaggerated bow before sipping the hot liquid.

He froze, his happy expression caving inwards. "Hot chocolate? Are you kidding me?"

"Sorry," Buzz mumbled, glancing quickly at Lassiter before exiting the room. Shawn turned towards the culprit of his order mix-up. In his mind, he recalled watching Lassiter whisper something in Buzz's ear before the officer abruptly left…

"I can't even have coffee, Lassie? Really?"

Lassiter scoffed. "Like you need it," he uttered.

"I _do_ need it! I have a killer headache, man. I need caffeine, not sugar!"

"Just drink the cocoa, kid."

Shawn sighed in aggravation, both at being called "kid" for the hundredth time by people who weren't his father and not being able to squash this aching feeling inside his brain. Throwing his head back, he pointedly set the cup unceremoniously down on the table. He shot Lassiter a defiant look, which was met with a scowl.

"Why do you think you're Shawn?"

The question was quiet but firm, and it came from Juliet. Shawn turned his attention on her, his gaze softening at the conflicting emotions flitting inside her eyes. He wondered if only he could see them, if he knew her so well that he could read her like a book – and not because he was good at reading people. Or books, because that's a joke.

"I don't _think_ I am, Jules. It's me. I swear it."

"How?" she shot at him, her cop side obviously taking over to hide her emotions.

Teenager or not, the boy looked like an adult as he sighed wearily and shook his head. "I have absolutely no idea. Last night, I was my regular old self – big biceps and gorgeous hair included. I ate some Mexican food, had a beer, and then hit the sack. When I woke up this morning, I had absolutely no idea where I was, why I couldn't breathe, or why I was…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. When he pulled it out again, it was damp – the liquid was slightly thicker than water and a little pinkish in color. Lassiter remained stoic, having seen the liquid before, but Chief Vick and Juliet's eyebrows shot up in synchronization.

"Yeah. That's what I thought, too," Shawn continued. "I have no idea what it is or why I was covered in it. I have no clue how I ended up on the floor of some kind of basement, why my clothes were gone – embarrassing as _hell_, by the way – or why there were bloody tools nearby. It was starting to feel like _'The Dentist'_, except without the whole dental aspect. And I certainly have no idea why I'm fifteen years old again."

Juliet and Lassiter exchanged a look before the female detective asked, "How do you know you're fifteen exactly?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't, really. I'm just guesstimating." He didn't need to tell them he remembered his exact reflection from when he was fifteen – that would kind of blow his psychic cover for when he returned to normal.

Speaking of which…

"Look, it's fun and all to be young again, but seriously. Can't we get a doctor or voodoo priest or _someone_ in here to fix me and make me big again?" His voice was on the verge of pleading, and if that didn't sell it, his big adorable puppy eyes might. He was in the process of preparing to sniffle when the door swung open yet again…

… and his father entered.

"Karen…" Henry acknowledged, nodding to her before locking eyes with Shawn.

"Oh, great," Shawn groaned. He walked over and collapsed in the chair, his elbows on his knees and hands over his eyes in dramatic agony. "Now the fun _really_ begins."

With his palms covering his face, Shawn didn't see Gus walk in behind his father, nor did he watch the Chief motion for Juliet and Lassiter to leave with her. But he heard the footsteps, and wasn't surprised at all when he finally pulled his head up to find he was alone with the two people who knew him best in the world.

Shawn shot Gus a grin. "Hey, buddy," he said quietly, observing his best friend's reactions. Gus seemed a little shocked, but he was purposefully keeping his face blank. Since he wasn't cracking up at the absurdity of the situation or yelling around that they needed to find "the real Shawn" as soon as possible, Shawn assumed Gus heard his thrilling tale about this morning from the observation room. This meant Henry heard it, too.

"You're handling this pretty well," he added, trying to break the awkward silence in the room. The two men were simply staring at him, Gus with a little bit of awe in his gaze and Henry with stern concentration and mild annoyance in his entire face.

He turned to his father. "Hey, Dad. I'm sorry to tell you this, but you're son is Benjamin Button."

"You're not my son."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I've been trying to convince everyone that for years, and _now_ you choose to admit it? Great timing."

Henry walked over to stand across the table from Shawn, tall enough to look menacing as he stared down his interrogation subject. His eyes flitted over the boy's features, taking his appearance in and comparing it with his own recollection of when his son was young. That's what Shawn hoped he was doing, anyhow.

Shawn stared back, not intimidated in the least. He was used to Henry's tactics.

"You want proof?" he asked, finally consenting to what everyone's been thinking about. "Fine. I'll give you proof." Shawn turned his head towards Gus. "Your full name is Burton William Guster, dubbed after your uncle. The first thing I did when I got back from my road trip was spring you from your boring day job and take you to Mexico. Unfortunately, you recovered from the anesthesia a little too early, and we never got passed the border."

Gus's eyes widened slightly, but he kept silent.

Shawn pressed on, realizing he needed more meat to this evidence sandwich. "Further back, then? Alright. When we were thirteen, I convinced you that your closet was haunted and you wouldn't go near it for eight weeks."

"We were nine!" Gus burst out, unable to control his annoyance any longer. "And you said the ghost was the one who kept stealing my shoes!"

"Yep. That was really me, I confess. Your Scooby Doo sneakers were too cool for your feet, Gus. Those shoes and I were destined to be together."

"Shawn…" Gus started, but he cut himself short at the name. He was about to fall into natural back-and-forth banter with a kid, and that's when Shawn knew he had convinced him at least partially.

The boy shot him a sideways smile before turning to Henry, who had slowly grown even angrier throughout his tirade. Shawn could see it in his face, and his own expression wiped blank as he said what he knew was the only thing to convince his father of the truth.

Shawn leaned in towards his Dad as if to tell a secret, which was kind of what he was doing. In a quiet voice, so the others listening in would hopefully not hear, he said, "There were eleven hats in the station when I was led through down to lock-up. One was a red baseball cap on a bald man, not unlike you. One was a sunhat with a purple flower on it that a woman wore. And one was black with a white arrow on it, something about 'Above the Influence'. The rest were policeman caps, and I think we both know what they look like."

Henry held a staring contest with him for a _very_ uncomfortable amount of time, so long that Shawn was tempted to look away or make a sarcastic comment. But he needed to be serious and hold his ground, because if he didn't, his father would never believe him.

Finally, Henry sucked in a breath.

"I think a DNA test is in order."

Shawn sighed, lounging back in his chair again. "Fine by me. If that's what it takes to convince you."

Henry's firm nod was irrefutable. He looked towards the window.

"Make the call, Karen," he said. "If this kid's my son, I want to be absolutely sure."

After a moment, the intercom came on and the Chief's voice echoed around them. "Alright, Henry. I'll get forensics to take a sample."

"Can I get some food in here?" Shawn chirped loudly. He looked down at his apparel, curling his upper lip in disdain. "And maybe some clothes that actually fit? Preferably a t-shirt with Perry the Platypus on it."

Henry rolled his eyes and turned to leave. Gus shot his best friend a you-have-got-to-be-kidding look before following suit.

"What? Perry is awesome!"


	3. Dazed and Befuddled

Chapter three! I'm beginning to see a pattern here...

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><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 3: Dazed and Befuddled_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Silence. It struck the conference table like a bolt of lightning, illuminating everyone's shocked faces. Yet, just like lightning, the daunted quiet was gone in a flash, followed by a thunder of voices.<p>

"_What?_"

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"That's insane!"

"Where did you get your degree, the Institution for Idiots?"

"Enough! Please!" shouted the scientist, her expression displaying a mixture of fright, surprise, and fury aimed at every outburst. Her eyes flicked back and forth between every face, from the two detectives to her left, to the Chief at the far end of the table, and finally to the family members on her right. "Mr. Spencer, was that jab really necessary?" she added to the balding man, whose scowl merely deepened in reply.

Dr. Teri Roth shook her head clear of all the madness surrounding her and sucked in a breath, understanding full well that the circumstances of the situation needed more evidence. "I assure all of you that the test is sound. I even had my assistant double-check it to be sure, but there's no mistake…"

"This is ridiculous," Henry belted out, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "That boy is _not_ my son! It's not physically possible. You must've done something wrong."

Teri fumed inwardly at this stubborn man's continuous doubt in her abilities. "Sir," she started, her voice strained from holding back the venomous anger she was feeling, "if you could refrain from blaming me for even half of a moment, I'd be delighted. If you think you'd get different results running the test _yourself_, despite your mulish attitude and unqualified skills…"

"_Thank you_, Dr. Roth. That's quite enough," the Chief cut in, raising her hand. Teri shut her mouth immediately, but her mood lifted as Vick flashed a glare towards an eye-rolling Henry. "I apologize on Mr. Spencer's behalf, but I'm sure you can sympathize with his doubts. We're all … a little surprised, to say the least."

The forensic scientist glanced around, briefly meeting all the faces staring back at her expectantly before releasing a quiet sigh. She examined her medical sheet again, pushing a stray strand of red hair away from her eyes as she vainly wondered if the results had changed to something more feasible. "Initial tests show that within an acceptable margin of error, the boy's DNA is virtually identical to Shawn Spencer's," Teri reiterated.

"How big is the margin of error?" Detective Lassiter asked, interlacing his fingers together on the wooden table.

"Incredibly small. The DNA match is high enough in probability to hold up in a court of law. There is a … _tiny_ abnormality, but for all intents and purposes, it's him."

"Tiny abnormality?" Gus repeated, eyebrows high up in his shaved hairline. "Like, say, the fact he's twenty years younger than he should be?"

"Honestly, this is out of my league," Teri confessed, ignoring the snort deriving suspiciously from Henry's direction. "I can't explain how this happened or why. I can only give you the facts that I know." She looked Chief Vick in the eye and straightened her posture. "I know of a couple excellent DNA analysts that live in Los Angeles. With your permission, I'd like to send them copies of the boy's files and see what they can learn."

The Chief nodded. "Report back immediately if you discover anything important. You're dismissed, Doctor. Thank you."

Teri dipped her head in reply, gathered her files into a single folder and tapped them on the table to sort them out. She rose to a stand, casting a quick glance around the table at its occupants. They all looked a little lost, especially the young blonde woman – Detective O'Hara. She didn't say a word the entire meeting, just stared down at her fumbling hands like they were the most fascinating things she's never seen.

Sighing to herself, Teri left the room and prepared for a long night of scanning files, emailing data, and really strange phone calls.

-::::-

Shawn was bored.

Who could blame him? He's been sitting in the same windowless interrogation room with the same table, chair, and mirror to keep him company for the last … well, he didn't know for sure. There wasn't a clock in here, and he didn't have his phone, let alone a watch. It had to have been over an hour, though, if they were doing a DNA test. How long did those things take, anyway?

Having given up on his attempts at pacing a long while ago – his pants kept falling down – and finding no suitable relief for his pounding headache, Shawn was five minutes into drifting off to sleep on the interrogation table when the door finally opened again.

"Shawn…" a quiet voice interrupted his peaceful dozing. He jerked his head up from his arms, his eyes wide open.

"I'm awake!" he belted out, countering his statement with a huge yawn that showed off all his back molars. When he was coherent again, he looked over at the door and saw Juliet staring at him.

Strike that last. She was looking past him, a little bit over his left shoulder.

Shawn rubbed his eyes wearily, but a smile formed on his face at the sight of his girlfriend. "Mmm… Hey, Jules. What's up?"

Juliet sighed a little, shutting the door after her and pulling over the second, unoccupied chair from the corner. She sat across from Shawn and pulled out a notepad from inside her suit jacket, not once looking at the boy as she did so.

"Jules?"

Shawn got a little worried at this point, especially at the carefully blank expression on her face. He kept the smile in place for her benefit and reached out to her, unable to resist his urge to comfort her when she was like this.

She scooted away from him.

"I'm … I'm sorry, Shawn," she whispered, finally looking up at him. Her beautiful blue eyes looked confused, and pained.

"What are you sorry about?" Shawn asked, his grin falling away. "What did the test say?"

"It was positive," she answered bluntly, looking down at her notepad to flip to an open page.

Shawn waited a moment before saying, "Does that mean I'm pregnant? Because I think this situation is weird enough, don't you?"

She didn't laugh at his half-heartened humor, but the ghost of a smile flitted across her face for the shortest of seconds. "It means that you _are_ Shawn, that you weren't lying to us."

"Well, I already _knew_ that. I'm the one that told _you_."

"I need to take your statement," Juliet said abruptly, changing the subject.

"Statement?"

"About what you did this morning. We need to know every little detail that could help us figure out how this could have happened to you, and how to reverse it." She clicked her pen open, her eyes still downcast. "Start from the beginning, please."

"Jules, look at me," Shawn whispered, his voice dead serious. After a moment of contemplation, the blonde detective glanced up and met his solemn hazel gaze. He leaned forward, his arms outstretched on the table. "I get that you're weirded out by this. Just imagine how I feel, being trapped inside this short, underdeveloped body when just yesterday I was taller than you! But … please don't shut me out. I'm not a huge fan of rejection, especially when it's not my fault."

Juliet's blank façade cracked, and her emotions finally spilled out in the form of an exasperated outburst. "Don't you get it, Shawn?" she said, her eyebrows pinching together. "I have no idea how I'm supposed to handle this kind of situation. I mean, I just found out that my boyfriend has been shrunk!"

Shawn looked down at himself defensively. "I wouldn't say I'm _that_ small, Jules. There are parts of my anatomy that are still very much the same size." He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Juliet rolled her eyes. "And that's another thing," she continued, her voice gentle but firm. "Our 'no touching at work' rule … I think it needs to be expanded to outside of the station, too."

"What? Come on…"

"Just until we figure out how to get you back to normal!" she added quickly. "I mean, don't you think it would be creepy for us to be holding hands down by the pier? Or kissing at a restaurant? People would think I'm a pedophile."

"Oh, those hard asses just wouldn't respect your choice in men," the teen reasoned with a smirk. "Jules, a lot of women are dating younger guys nowadays. Take Courtney Cox, for example."

Juliet shook her head, feeling a banter war coming on between them. "Shawn, just because she stars in _Cougar Town_ does not mean that–"

"Oh, hey! I just realized you and her character have the same name! What are the odds?"

"Shawn…"

"You know, I never did get food in my belly. Wanna go out for lunch?"

"Shawn, _please_." If the pleading tone in her voice didn't shut him up, it was her hand suddenly covering his, squeezing gently. The warmth of her skin against his was so familiar, he almost felt normal. Then he made the mistake of glancing at the mirror, and seeing Juliet holding hands so lovingly with a teenaged boy… Well, let's just say he understood her point of view.

"I need you to take this seriously," she said.

Shawn's smile softened, and he flipped his hand over so they were palm to palm. "I _am_ taking this seriously. I swear it. There's nothing more important to me right now than getting back to the way things were."

That seemed to cure something, as Juliet finally appeared to let her burdens go – for the moment – and a smile broke through her big brick wall of cop. Shawn wanted nothing more than to scoop her in his arms and kiss her right there, but he read how she felt and settled for a light peck on the hand instead.

Her smile becoming a little sly, Juliet pulled her hand away and returned it to her pen. "I really do need to take your statement, you know," she said, her voice much airier than before.

Shawn sighed wistfully. "Alright, but only if you promise I can get new clothes. And food. _And_ coffee. A shower wouldn't hurt, either… Care to join me on that last adventure?"

A chuckle escaped her, and that was all it took for Shawn to call himself happy.

-::::-

The statement taking lasted about half an hour. It would've been shorter, but Shawn seemed to recall every miniscule detail as if he were still there. Granted, their most recent conversation seemed to put Juliet at better ease, but she was still tense around him. She knew he could tell, too, and she was grateful that he wasn't saying anything further on the subject.

It just wasn't right, calling him Shawn when he was a skinny, pimple-faced, round-eyed teenager. This was too much like a daydream, or more likely a nightmare.

That wasn't to say part of Juliet didn't enjoy this a little. Seeing Shawn when he was a kid? Sure, he acted like one most of the time, but now the visage was complete. It was actually kind of hilarious, if she took the time to think about it.

She didn't, though, because all her mind could ponder on was a single, agonizing question.

_What if he never returns to normal?_

Juliet cared about him too much for something like this to come between them, but she wouldn't know what to do if this couldn't be fixed.

Sighing inwardly at the thought, the junior detective finished up her notes on Shawn's description of his escape. Apparently, after he busted out of the basement, he'd found himself in some sort of cabin in the middle of the woods. Hearing a sound like footsteps behind him, he'd bolted out the back door and ran until he'd found civilization. Unfortunately for some sad sap that decided it was a nice day out to hang up his clothes on a line, Shawn had taken a pair of pants and a large T-shirt before slipping into too-big work boots. He'd proceeded to hot-wire the car – a skill Juliet was curious how he came to learn – and headed towards Psych twenty mph over the speed limit when the cops pulled him over. He'd cooperated, knowing full well that he would've ended up at the station that day, anyhow.

There was a lot more detail than that – bucket loads, to be precise – but Juliet preferred to summarize.

When Juliet finished crossing her i's and dotting her t's, she looked back up at Shawn. There was still _some_ resemblance to the older man she knew and dated. His hair was darker now, and his cheeks were shallower with youth. He was skinny almost to the point of boney – his collarbone jutted out at a near-extreme angle. And there was no five o'clock shadow along his jaw line.

But when she looked into the boy's eyes, she saw a spark of knowing behind their hazel depths that seemed beyond his years. That was how she convinced herself it was really Shawn. Who needed a stupid DNA test?

Okay, so it was still nice to be absolutely certain. Whatever.

"Is it food time, yet?" Shawn asked, his weariness showing in the whiny tinge of his voice.

Juliet stood and motioned for Shawn to follow. "I believe so. Want to invite Gus and your dad?"

"Gus? Definitely. My father? Not unless you want the day to end with the apocalypse."

Juliet opened the door, but jumped back a little in surprise to find Henry Spencer standing there, his arms crossed. The man scowled over at his son, which seemed to be his natural response to everything.

"Too bad, Shawn," he said gruffly. "I'm coming to lunch, and dinner, and even breakfast tomorrow morning. Because until this … _catastrophe_ is taken care of, I'm not letting you out of my sight. Got it, kid?"

And without waiting for a reply, the old man turned around and walked away. Juliet glanced over at Shawn, who looked both contemplative and a little creeped out.

"How long do you think he was standing there?" he asked, rubbing his chin like he was actually thinking about it.

Laughing a little at the absurdity, Juliet shrugged. "Come on. Let's get you some clothes before we go out."

"At long last!" the boy exclaimed dramatically. He skipped past the detective and turned around, walking backwards as he continued to talk to her. "Maybe we can get you some new clothes, too. I'll have to join you in the dressing room, of course."

"Naturally."

Shawn grinned, one side of his mouth upturning a little higher than the other.

And for a second, Juliet looked beyond all of the tiny differences and saw Shawn as a whole.

If only seconds could really last a lifetime.


	4. Strangest Lunch Date Ever

Chapter four is here. Just so y'all are aware.

* * *

><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 4: Strangest Lunch Date Ever_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The more time he spent with this kid, the more Gus started to see the <em>real<em> Shawn hidden underneath the younger surface. He recognized all the same mannerisms and tics this teenager had that Shawn always did. For instance, when he was nervous, Shawn bounced up and down on the balls of his feet – and, of course, when he was deep in thought he would put his fingers to his forehead.

It was becoming really difficult for Gus to hold back his urge to go on like nothing ever changed, fall back into his regular routine with his best friend as if nothing happened. But sometimes, he lost his cool and collected façade and slipped up, which led into conversations like the one they were having right now.

"Are you gonna eat those fries, buddy?"

"Yes, Shawn. Of course I am. I ordered them, so I'm going to finish them. That's what I _always_ do."

"Dude, that is _so_ not true. What about that time you got sick in the middle of eating your jumbo chili fries at Disney Land and I had to finish them while you were in the bathroom, puking your guts out?"

"I only threw up because _you_ didn't want to wait the proper length of time after riding on the Mickey Mouse roller coaster before eating. I was pre-nauseated, Shawn. That time doesn't count."

"Sure it does."

"Does _not_."

"Does too."

"Not."

"_Too_, times infinity plus one, wrapped in a big blue bow and given to a child on Christmas."

"Shawn, that doesn't even make any sense," Henry snapped before Gus had the chance. "And will you two shut your traps for at least five seconds? I can barely get my food down with all your nonsense." Accentuating his statement with a grunted bite of his burger, the much older man made a point of glaring at each of them in turn while he chewed slowly and deliberately – almost like he was threatening them through eating.

It was just enough of a distraction against Gus for a pale, skinny hand to shoot out underneath his protective arm barrier and snatch a fry. He noticed the theft a second too late and shot a dirty look at his best friend as the boy swallowed the golden goodness.

Shawn raised his eyebrows innocently. "What?" he asked, leaning back to slouch in his seat. "Gus, I'm a growing boy-man-person now … or, again. I need more food than you. It's a fact of life."

Gus threw his leg out underneath the table and caught Shawn in the shin, grateful he was sitting across from him to be able to do that. While Shawn grimaced and rubbed his leg, Gus took an innocent sip of his soda. "You already ate two Big Macs, your _own_ fries, and a milkshake," he pointed out. "You keep this up, and you're gonna be one chubby guy when you get back to normal."

"Pfft!" Shawn blew a raspberry at his friend, rolling his eyes. "Please, Gus. I hardly think one meal is going to alter my entire physique in a single day. What are the odds of _that_ happening, hm?"

"About the same as getting turned back into a smart-ass teenager overnight," Henry contributed, wiping his mouth with a bright yellow napkin before tossing it carelessly onto his tray. He cast his son a meaningful look, telling him to _'shut the hell up or talk about something interesting'_.

Gus suddenly found himself caught in the middle of a Spencer father/son loathing stare contest, something he hadn't witnessed in years. Did Henry honestly think that just because Shawn _looked_ like a kid again, that meant he needed to be treated like one? Gus had no problem with enjoying that, but Shawn obviously did.

Finally, Shawn shrugged one shoulder, crossed his arms, and turned his eyes away. "Whatever," he muttered sulkily, looking around the McDonald's dining area with a narrowed gaze. "Why is Jules taking so long in the bathroom? What do girls do in there that takes them so freaking long to come out?"

"You _really_ want to know?" Henry asked gruffly.

"Rhetorical question, Dad."

"She probably still wants to look nice for you, kid," Henry pressed forward anyway. "Though I don't understand why. I mean, what's she trying to prove to a fifteen-year-old who dresses like he grabbed something blindly from his closet and threw it on?"

Shawn glanced down at his new outfit: a pair of dark jeans that actually fit him, a blue T-shirt that displayed the Hulk fighting Wolverine, and a red and white plaid long-sleeve button up shirt on top – buttons undone, of course. He had new black sneakers on his tad-bit smaller feet, and a black baseball cap sat precariously on the edge of the table, waiting to be worn.

Shawn cocked an eyebrow as his gaze flickered between his clothes to his father's. "Are you sure I'm the blind one in this situation?" he asked, gesturing towards the bright orange and green Hawaiian shirt his dad was currently wearing. "I mean, _yellow_ and green I can understand, because they're the colors of pineapple awesomeness, but orange? Come on, Dad. You're embarrassing me."

Gus chuckled, almost shooting soda out of his nose when he did. Henry shot him a glare and was about to reprimand his son when the sound of clicking heels on the tiled floor stole away Shawn's attention. Gus looked up to see Juliet approaching, her cell phone in her hand.

"Hey, Jules," Shawn said, brushing a hand through his limp dark hair. He frowned for a moment, and Gus knew exactly what he was thinking: _I need to gel my hair up._ Knowing him for so long, Gus often felt like he could read Shawn's mind. It was impossible, of course – especially with a mind as odd as Shawn's – but Gus thought he was closer to doing it than anyone else.

Instead of commenting on his hair, however, Shawn slid out of the booth and stood in front of his now much older girlfriend. He swooped his arms around, dramatically gesturing that she sit next to him, but Gus also caught the fact that Shawn didn't want to sit directly across from his father. He didn't blame him. _Try sitting right next to the man_, he thought to himself.

But Juliet didn't sit. She raised her phone up for all to see. "Lassiter just called me," she informed them. "Chief Vick wants to start investigating what happened to you, Shawn, while we wait for more test results. Lassiter wants to retrace your steps and go back to that cabin you spoke of in the woods. Do you think you could lead us there?"

Shawn thought about it for a moment, and Gus hid an annoyed smirk behind his napkin when the boy brought his hand to his head and tilted it to the side. He scrunched his face up in what appeared to be fierce concentration, so strong that it seemed to cause him pain. "I … might not be able to recall every step I took by memory," he lied, his voice sounding somewhat strained.

Gus resisted the urge to roll his eyes or scoff as he exchanged a look with Henry. Juliet started to deflate, her hopes slipping.

"But I think I can divine the path I took if you take me back to that guy's house that I stole the car from. We'll start there." Shawn looked up at Juliet and smiled, a favor she returned with slight confusion.

"You still have your psychic powers?" she asked, and it was clear to Gus that she'd thought Shawn's _gift_ was lost when he reverted back to his younger years.

"Of course, Jules," Shawn confirmed. He formed a thumbs-up shape with his left hand and jabbed it over his shoulder to point at Henry. "Despite what my father said, I really _did_ have this connection with the ghost realm all my life, _not_ starting at eighteen. Right, pops?"

"Whatever you say, Shawn," his father agreed, but it sounded more like mockery. The older man nudged Gus's arm to get him moving out of the booth, following him soon afterwards. "Let's just go, can we? I'd like to get this problem taken care of as soon as possible." Henry stared down at his son with a hard expression, but the boy ignored him. He was too busy jumping up and down in excitement.

"Shotgun!" he exclaimed, a huge smile on his face. He snatched up his hat and went to bolt towards the door in a race to the car, but a firm hand on his shoulder by his father stopped him. Gus watched the exchange from his peripheral vision while he threw out everyone's trash and stacked the trays, shaking his head in amusement. It was weird, having Shawn as a teenager again, but in a way things didn't really change … ever. He was still the same immature, childish Shawn he knew for years, and Henry was still the old man keeping him in check.

As they made their way out – at a much more controlled pace, thanks to Henry's grip on his son's arm – Juliet suggested to Shawn that he apologize to the man he'd stolen from. The kid sighed. "I guess so. Why, did he cry over missing his clothes? I don't get why – they were highly uncomfortable."

"He's a pretty big guy, Shawn," Gus said. "I spotted him when he came to the station to get his car. It's no wonder your pants kept falling down."

"And he wasn't upset, per say," Juliet clarified. "It was more like … furious anger."

Shawn stopped mid-step in the parking lot, his smile gone and his face paling more so than it already was. He visibly gulped before asking, "Did … he say _how_ angry he was?"

Juliet shook her head. "It's too inappropriate to tell minors," she commented wryly, opening the driver's side door to her cruiser and slipping inside.

Shawn made a face. "Ha-ha, very funny. I might have a massive, irate man on my hands who wants to chop my head off and you're making jokes?"

"Look who's talking," Henry said, getting in the passenger side. Shawn immediately dove after the closing door.

"Hey! I called shotgun!"

-::::-

The ride to the house took around twenty minutes, and Shawn had a growing headache the entire time. To be honest, it was the same headache as this morning when he'd asked so desperately for a cup of coffee. He'd gotten the drink just before leaving the station, the warmth and caffeine filling his body and easing the pressure behind his eyes. It hyped him up, too – a lot more than it did before. Must have something to do with the age thing.

Whatever the reason, Lassiter didn't hesitate to claim he was right to withhold the coffee while Shawn attempted to break dance on the floor in the middle of the station.

That was almost three hours ago, though – time flies by when you're trying on clothes at an unfamiliar store for teenagers and grabbing lunch at the closest fast food place. The effects of the caffeine wore off fast, and almost instantly after Shawn crashed, the headache returned, a solid pounding between his ears that refused to recede.

He had managed to resist rubbing his temples at McDonald's, not wanting to worry Gus any more than his friend already was. The man didn't need to say it; Shawn could just tell, and he knew Gus and probably Juliet would make a big deal out of his pain. The car ride seemed to make it worse, though. Every time the wheels hit a pothole, Shawn winced and his hand instinctually reached for his head, as if it could actually comfort it. He always stopped himself short, and finally decided to discreetly sit on his own hands for good measure.

This didn't stop the flinching, though, or the growing severity of the throbbing. He forced himself to keep his expression blank until they reached their destination.

When the car pulled up outside the familiar house, Shawn spotted Lassiter standing by the fence, his arms crossed. He looked down at his watch, or at least it seemed like he did. He was wearing dark sunglasses, and it was hard to tell where his eyes were aimed. Shawn was the last one to leave the car after it was parked, mentally preparing himself for what they might find. Taking a deep breath as he jammed his hat on his head, he opened the door and plastered a near-fake smile on his face.

"Lassitarian! Did you miss me?" Shawn cooed, walking up to the detective.

Lassiter made a face that looked like he was sucking on a lemon. "Never in a million years would I miss you, Spencer," he growled, saying the name with recognizable distaste.

"Love you, too, Lassie," he said, grinning slyly. He took a quick glance around at the house and easily observed that all the lights were out, the door appeared to be locked, and the garage door was closed.

"Sorry, Jules," Shawn told her, trying to sound regretful and failing miserably at hiding his relief. "I don't think I can apologize today. It appears Big-Bad-and-Scary isn't home."

"What makes you say that?" she asked, looking around as if there was a _'Back in Five Minutes'_ sign strung up somewhere.

Shawn couldn't tell her that he remembered what the house looked like this morning when he stumbled across it. He couldn't tell her he clearly recalled that the garage was open, as was the screen door, and nearly every light was on in the house. Shawn also remembered hearing the television playing the morning news report, so logically he assumed the owner was home and awake – though, that didn't stop him from taking what he'd needed at the time.

Rather than divulging this personal information, Shawn raised his hand to his head and waggled his fingers around playfully, choosing not to say anything. Lassiter groaned as if the action physically pained him.

"Oh, great. Even like _this_, you're still trying to convince us you're⎯"

"Shush!"

Lassiter fumed at the interruption – by a kid, no less. If life were a cartoon, steam would be flowing freely from his ears and nose. Shawn almost laughed at the image, but told himself he needed to focus.

So he brought both hands to his head and closed his eyes.

"Oh, for the love of…"

"Lassie, do you know what 'shush' means? I could give a detailed explanation, if you want. I'll use pictures and everything."

"Spencer…" The detective's growl was gradually increasing from annoyed to threatening.

"I need to concentrate," Shawn explained, and with his eyes still closed, he began to navigate his way towards the house. Rebuilding the scenery he had just seen moments ago inside his eyelids, Shawn slowly trekked across the front lawn, around an oak tree, under the clothesline he had stolen the large pants from, and around to the side of the house – without tripping or missing a single beat. He even managed to avoid the yard sprinkler sticking up out of the ground by mere inches.

He finally stopped when he reached the back end of the house, lifting his head and opening his eyes. In front of him was the woods, thick and green and expansive beyond definition. Glancing over his shoulder, Shawn saw the others had followed him silently. Lassiter was still sucking on that invisible lemon, but Gus and Juliet looked absolutely serious. Henry, who'd taken place in the back of the group, was shaking his head in disapproval. He could tell that Shawn was showing off – of course he could – and he didn't like it. Shawn smirked a bit smugly at him before facing the woods again.

"Onward!"

He stepped forward, one hand to his head while the other outstretched in front of him, appearing to guide him.

"I came from this direction," he narrated, pointing in front of him as he walked. "I ran for about … ten minutes, I think. Which was not fun in bare feet, let me tell you."

Then it happened again, an abrupt pulse of pain coursing across his brain from back to front. He cringed as it twanged in his neck a little, and for a moment his brisk walk staggered drunkenly. He really hoped nobody noticed, and sighed inwardly with relief when the next thing spoken was completely unrelated.

"Is that just running in a straight line for ten minutes? Or in total, from there to the house?" Gus asked.

"You're such a stickler for clarification, dude. If you _must_ know, it's in total. By the way, are you nuts, Gus?" Shawn replied. "You never run in a straight line when someone's chasing you in the woods. Isn't that right, Dad?" His father was silent, so much so that Shawn had to physically look at him to remind himself that he was still following.

"Wait, so there was someone chasing you, Spencer?" Lassiter questioned. "Did you see who it was?"

"I only heard their footsteps in the cabin before I ran for it. I don't know if he or she actually chased me or not, but I wound myself quite the confusing path in the forest … just in case."

After a couple minutes of silent hiking, the only sounds being some chirping birds overhead and the crunch of dead leaves beneath their feet, Shawn paused near a tree stump. "I fell down around here," he explained as the others caught up. "I used this stump to help myself back up. We should be…" He trailed off, going into _psychic_ mode again. "We should only be a couple minutes away. I can sense the cabin nearby."

He turned around and walked on before any of them could respond, his pace quickening so they would get there faster and believe the false 'vision'. Well, Lassie and Jules, at least. Gus and Henry knew the truth, and it was them that Shawn worried would suspect something was wrong with him. Hell, Shawn was beginning to wonder himself. The headaches were doubling in pain with every pounding beat – that couldn't possibly be normal.

Combining his hasty steps with the right direction, Shawn managed to find the cabin three minutes later. It was small, definitely not extraordinary. Its modern design could be passed up by anyone walking by, though he wondered who, besides them and a couple lost nature hikers, would wander this deep into the woods. That was the only thing suspicious about that cabin – well, that and the fact that it was where Shawn had escaped from.

"That's it," he breathed, dropping his hands.

"Come on," Henry said, startling him from behind. Lassiter and Jules pulled ahead of them, their weapons drawn and held tightly by their sides as they rushed towards the back door. Shawn, Henry, and Gus followed at a brisk pace.

Lassiter stood to the right of the door, Juliet to the left – both with their backs facing the log walls. The head detective made a fist and knocked on the door three times, accompanying it with his voice: "SBPD! Open up!"

He waited five seconds, but there was no response. So, counting to three with Juliet, Lassiter suddenly stood back and kicked the door right near the handle. Wood splintered into the air as the entrance was suddenly open, and both detectives disappeared inside. Shawn went to go in, too, but once again his father stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Dad, come on…" he whined, trying to twist free.

"Wait for it, son," Henry said sternly, his grip never wavering despite Shawn's struggles.

One agonizingly long minute later, Juliet's muffled voice called out to their ears. "Clear!" Lassiter soon echoed her.

The moment Henry let go, Shawn practically bolted inside. But as soon as he saw the interior of the house, he regretted ever coming near this cabin again. Instantly, he was assaulted by memories of this morning. The panic he'd felt during his escape, the fear at not knowing what was happening, had unexpectedly returned, hitting him full force like a speeding train. Breathing turning rapid, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, Shawn made a fist with each hand and grit his teeth in an attempt to pull himself together.

He saw himself, wrapped in nothing but a flimsy towel running down this very hallway towards freedom.

He saw the bloody tools on the silver table, snarling threateningly at him as if they were alive.

He saw his reflection in the very same table, the youth in his features shocking him almost to the point of fainting.

The visions were magnifying. They played in front of his eyes as if they were actually there, but at the same time they were transparent, allowing him to see Juliet and Lassiter standing in front of him.

He saw the basement where he woke up this morning…

"Shawn? Hey, are you okay?"

Gus, his best friend, was speaking to him. He realized a little too late that he had stopped breathing, and his lungs burned for oxygen. Ignoring the stares he was receiving from everyone in the room, Shawn discreetly sucked in a big breath and exhaled slowly.

"Shawn?" Gus repeated, still unsure despite the color returning to his friend's face.

"The basement," came the kid's only reply. He walked forward, brushing by Juliet for a moment to give her hand a secret squeeze. She barely had time to register his touch before he let go and kept walking, picking up pace as he neared a familiar wooden door. He stopped in front of it in hesitation, looking back at the detectives. "I woke up in the basement," he said. "There were a bunch of tables and tools, like a makeshift doctor's office. And there was this really freaky bath tub thing, filled with that weird thick water. I still can't get that crap out of my hair, you know," he added, self-consciously touching his behatted head.

Lassiter was the first to move, weapon still drawn as he went towards the wooden door and braced it open fiercely. He rushed down the stairs, Juliet following. Henry looked about ready to hold his son back from bolting forward again, but this time he didn't need to. Shawn had no burning desire to go back down there, even if it meant finding out why he was twenty years younger.

"Spencer," the head detective's voice rang up to them. "You're going to want to see this."

Shawn's eyebrows knitted together, trying to decipher Lassiter's meaning behind his off tone. He had no choice but to go back down now. Sighing in reluctance, he descended the stairs, his best pal and father on his heels. He fully expected to see the exact same scene that he saw this morning – tables, tools, blood and all. What he found, however, was something that added a throb of confusion to his headache.

The room was completely empty.

The floor was clean – a little too clean, he realized. Like someone mopped up every nook and cranny. There were no tables, no tubs – nothing that screamed out _weird psycho_ at all.

But then he saw it.

"Are you sure this is the right cabin?" Gus couldn't help but ask.

Shawn finished descending the stairs in one big leap over the last three steps and walked deliberately over to a spot near the center of the room. He didn't say anything … at first.

"We're probably wasting our time," Lassiter scoffed, holstering his gun in annoyance. "Spencer doesn't know what he's doing."

"Shawn, you didn't get confused in your visions to lead you here, did you?" Juliet suggested.

"This is the place."

The voice came from a surprising source – Henry, not Shawn. Three pairs of eyes turned towards the older Spencer, while the younger knelt down on the floor and started scraping something up. Henry's eyes never left his son. "This is definitely the place, isn't it, Shawn?"

Shawn came to a stand again, grinning slightly and brandishing his closed fist. "How else could this have gotten here?" he said, opening his fingers.

Inside his hand was a small drop of the pinkish liquid. There was no doubt now.

But now the question remains, running through Shawn's sore brain like a train on a rough track:

_What happened to all the evidence?_


	5. I Smell Cinnamon Rolls

Chapter five: I'm still alive!

* * *

><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 5: I Smell Cinnamon Rolls_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The sun was just beginning to set by the time they all arrived back at the station. That was half an hour ago, and now Henry could no longer see a lick of sunlight outside. It was all artificial yellow glow from the city streetlights, especially brighter near the SBPD's entrance because of the overhead lamps.<p>

It was an ominous end to a very strange day.

Karen Vick's words from this morning still rang through his head. That unbelievable conversation, a phone call that should've been impossible, echoed deep within his mind.

_''Henry, call Mr. Guster and come to the station right away. If you haven't seen Shawn since yesterday, then I think we might have a serious problem."_

At first, Henry thought Karen meant Shawn had been kidnapped – again. And though in the end he wasn't completely wrong – his son _was_ taken, after all – that belief was quickly squashed as the Chief continued talking, transforming his concern into incredulity.

Sighing inwardly, the elder Spencer turned away from the window and looked back across the bullpen at his supposed son. Part of him – a large portion, actually – still didn't believe that kid was Shawn. Even now, as he watched him joke with Gus while drizzling glue across Lassiter's various desk possessions, Henry didn't believe. He couldn't believe. It just wasn't believable.

Shawn? 20 years younger in a matter of hours? If Henry hadn't seen it with his own eyes, he would've locked Karen up in the loony bin himself, retirement be damned.

But when he first laid eyes on the kid ... when he first saw Shawn...

He looked exactly as Henry remembered him, all those years ago. He's got pictures framed in his house to prove the unmistakable similarities. The same eyes glistened with the same mischief. The same hair stuck up in the same irritating places. The same immature mind had the same eidetic memory.

That's where the other part of Henry was stuck on. Even if he _did_ believe it was Shawn, he didn't really want to. Too many scary questions popped into mind, though Henry Spencer would never admit to having frightening thoughts.

How could this have possibly happened? Who would do something like this to his son? What on earth could anyone possibly gain by turning back Shawn's clock?

Would he ever go back to being normal? Would it get even worse, and after tonight Shawn would suddenly morph into a drooling baby, but still have the same mind as when he was 35?

Those last few questions were the real kickers, and if they were running through Henry's mind, no doubt they were flying twice as fast in Shawn's head.

Looking at Shawn now, Henry saw right through the playful facade, and not for the first time today either. He could see the secret pain – whether it was merely emotional or also physical, he wasn't quite sure yet – hiding in every look, in every movement. Shawn would try to blink and laugh it away, like he always did when he was hiding something, but it kept returning over and over again. Henry had his suspicions that it was getting worse, too, whatever it was.

This time, the elder Spencer sighed out loud. He was too old to be a parent to a teenager again. Especially when that teenager was Shawn.

"The results are in!"

The call sent stationary people into a universal startled leap, it was so sudden and shrill. Henry whipped around a little too fast, his neck emitting a low crack and initiating a throbbing crick. Wincing, he rubbed the sore spot as a familiar scowl fell easily into place.

It was that damn doctor again. Or forensic scientist. Whatever. For probably no reason at all, Dr. Roth bugged the hell out of Henry. He couldn't quite place it, but something about her pushed his buttons. He was sure it was unintentional, but he was also sure that he found a way to push her buttons back in reciprocation. Maybe it was her youth? She looked scarily young to be in such a high position for her field.

Still massaging his stiffening neck, Henry joined the little gathering that had formed around Detective O'Hara's desk. Lassiter, Juliet, and the boys were all there, listening intently to what Dr. Roth was explaining.

"The pink goo that you found? It's definitely the same thing that was in your hair when you were here earlier. It's some sort of synthetic amniotic fluid," Teri was saying, her grin wider than her face. Obviously, this was very exciting to her, though Henry couldn't understand why.

"What does that mean?" he voiced gruffly, and the doctor's expression visibly fell from joyous to irritated. "Why was it all over Shawn in the first place?"

"I'm not _sure_ yet," she stressed, not sparing a moment to look at him. Instead, she focused on the files in front of her. "Something like this has never been marketed to hospitals, though its intended purpose was to sustain infant life outside the womb."

"Woah! Hold on. Back up. Rewind. Jump on the Delorean and hit eighty-eight miles per hour. Spin that Time Turner. Push the–"

"Shawn!" Gus snapped, nudging the rambling boy in the shoulder. He would've elbowed him like usual, but with his friend's new height, Gus would've hit him in the nose.

"Does this mean I was reborn or something? Is that why I'm younger?" Shawn asked, ignoring Gus like he didn't even speak. His eyes widened at the implication. "Then how come I'm not an infant? Hell, why aren't I a squirming little sperm-and-egg nugget? I couldn't have grown so much in one night."

"First, you're worried about why you're younger. Now, you think something's wrong because you're too old?" Lassiter's voice was full of contempt. "Make up your mind, Spencer."

"I don't even make my bed, Lassie. Why would I go a step further?"

Lassiter practically growled at the grinning kid, but Juliet stepped in before a confrontation could be made. "Is there anything else, Dr. Roth?" she inquired kindly.

The woman flipped through her notes again. "I sent some CSI's to the cabin to see if they could find more evidence. Don't worry; they're very thorough and hardly ever miss anything."

"Key word '_hardly_'," Henry mumbled without meaning to. The doctor shot a glare at him, but a moment later it was turned back onto the papers.

"I sent Shawn's DNA to a specialist I know in LA. He should be getting back to me soon with his findings. Until then, I have to be getting back to the lab. I have more research to do if I'm to discover why this pink goo coated Shawn like … like…"

"Like a caramel covered ice cream cone?" Shawn offered, bringing a bright smile to Teri's face.

"Why not?" Dr. Roth laughed a little, but the giggles died away as quickly as they started, getting replaced by a thoughtful expression. It looked as if an idea just struck her out of nowhere. "Shawn, you said you saw some sort of bathtub when you woke up this morning?"

The boy nodded, his brow furrowing at where this was going. "Yeah. So?"

"Very interesting," she muttered, but it seemed she didn't have enough evidence to provide a theory out loud, for she didn't elaborate further. Henry narrowed his eyes in suspicion. _What is she thinking?_

"Has the chief been briefed on this?" Lassiter asked, his gaze also squinted in what could be wariness.

"Yes. I informed her first, like I was ordered to."

"Let us know when you have something more, please," Juliet said, and the doctor nodded one final time before turning on her heel and departing.

"So!" Shawn exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "I guess it's theory time, then. It's a bit like story time, only with real possibilities. I vote aliens. Gus, what do you think?"

"How are aliens a _real_ possibility, Shawn? We both know they don't exist."

"That's never been proven and you know it! Didn't they just discover a new planet or something that's exactly like Earth?"

Gus scoffed. "In another galaxy. That doesn't mean–"

"It also doesn't _not_ mean that–"

"Oh, would you two _shut up_ already?" Lassiter barked loudly, his face gradually turning a deep shade of furious red. Shawn took one look at the head detective and let out a long sigh of defeat.

"Fine. So it probably wasn't aliens. Got any other bright ideas why I'm suddenly Justin Beiber, version two?"

Lassie's face scrunched in aggravated confusion. "Who?"

Henry snorted. "Please, Shawn. You're no Beiber," he said, surprising the entire gang. Shawn's eyebrows shot up until they were hidden beneath his hat.

"How do _you_ know who that is?" Gus asked, astonished.

Henry shrugged. "I watch TV, Gus. Besides, that kid's freaking everywhere." Rubbing his neck again, the old Spencer started backing away. "I'm getting something to eat at the coffee shop across the street. Gus?" He met the dark-skinned man's eyes and pointed deliberately at his son. "_Watch_ him. Don't let him do anything … well, Shawn-like, until I get back. Then, kid, you and me are going home."

"Home?" Shawn choked out, making a face of contempt. He took a step towards his retreating father, who had turned around fully, and called after him. "Why do I have to stay with you? Why can't I stay with Gus? Or Jules? Hell, I can still stay by myself! I might not look it, but I _am_ a grown man. I have unpaid bills in sealed envelopes stamped in red to prove it. Dad? _Dad!_"

But Henry was already out the door.

-::::-

"I want a case," Shawn demanded, entering Chief Vick's office in the same manner as usual – barging without knocking. It took barely twenty seconds to lose Gus's poor attempt at Jackal mode, easily distracting him with a _purely accidental_ encounter with the new and apparently friendly female cop at the station.

The chief didn't even look up as she answered. "No cases right now, Mr. Spencer."

Shawn saw this coming. He planned to go the sophisticated approach, make a reasonable proposition for her. It was half-guaranteed to work.

Instead, he acted on impulse – and whined.

"But Chief," he started, making puppy dog eyes until she finally looked up at him.

"I said no."

"I need something to focus on," Shawn barreled, swimming in dangerous waters. "Something to do other than getting sat on by my father or trailed by Gus. Something besides waiting around for incomplete test results. Something..." _Something to get rid of this blinding headache_, he thought, catching himself before he said it out loud.

"We still don't know the full extent of your situation. Until further notice, you will focus on what happened to you and nothing else."

"I can't just –"

"Shawn!"

The boy winced at Gus's voice, touching his temple with two fingers and massaging it briefly. He hid the kneading of his pained brain by continuing upward and swiping off his hat in the same movement, as if intentional.

"Shawn, what are you doing in here?" Gus asked, poking his head in the office. Shawn could practically feel his friend's scowl burn into the back of his scruffy head. He shot one last pleading look at Chief Vick, who raised her eyebrows in a daring gesture. Finally, he hung his head in mock defeat and sighed.

"Fine," he mumbled, turning around on dragging feet and walking out the door. Gus was still glaring. "Don't give me that look," Shawn hissed at him, the pounding in his head ultimately starting to affect his mood. Gus's glare turned into a surprised look, but Shawn ignored him and walked off.

He found himself at Juliet's desk, swiveling in her chair and staring out at nothing. The detective herself was in the break room getting coffee for her and Lassiter. Gus was actually decent enough to keep an eye on Shawn from a manageable distance and not over the shoulder.

Shawn was alone. Again.

He was bored. Still.

He had a headache, which over the past couple of minutes had turned into minute nausea.

Shawn frowned. This really wasn't looking good for him. It wasn't the burgers earlier, or the coffee, considering the headache has been a constant drag since he woke up suffocating. It wasn't a concussion, hopefully. Shawn didn't remember hitting his head. He thought he could rule out a brain tumor growing overnight.

It couldn't have been a mere coincidence, this headache and his new youth happening on the same day.

He cringed again as another wave of pain coursed throughout his nerves, shooting down his neck and spine; he actually caught himself gagging at the sudden overload of queasiness in his stomach. _Great. Now I have two organs to worry about,_ he thought sullenly. Smacking his hat down on the ground beside his chair with a mild frustration, he leaned forward onto the desk and let his head collapse in his open hands. His palms rubbed at his closed eyes, trying to erase the glowing white spots hiding in his vision.

"Are you okay, kid?"

Shawn looked up at the unfamiliar female voice, his hands pulling at the skin on his face so the pinks of his lower lids were visible. It was that new cop he managed to maneuver Gus into talking to. She had her dark curly hair in a tight bun and was staring at him in concern, not realizing the person she just called a kid was really her new resident psychic. A manila folder with a large amount of paper sticking out the back end was pinned under her arm. She seemed unaware that the entire file was about to fall to the floor in fifty-two-pickup style.

"M'fine, Veronica," he murmured, straightening up and wiping the accumulating sweat off his forehead. _Why is it so stuffy in here all of a sudden?_ Shawn wondered, staring at his wet sleeve in confusion. _Did the air-conditioning fail? _

The woman was about to walk off, but stopped mid-stride. She looked back at the boy curiously. "How did you know my name?" she asked with suspicion. Only her surname was on her tag, after all.

Shawn could've told her he heard Gus introduce himself earlier, leading her to do the same, and ended it there. But he still had a reputation to keep, and newbies were always fun to play with. "Didn't you know?" he said, looking genuinely taken aback. "I'm Shawn Spencer, Head Psychic here at the good old SBPD."

Veronica scoffed in pure skepticism. "You got two things wrong with that statement, kid," she replied in a know-it-all voice. "One, there's no such thing as psychics. And two, even if there were, no way would Chief Vick let a twelve-year-old kid be at the top of a very short, non-existent list under her employment."

Shawn was fairly amused by now, and he showed it with a grin. "No need to get all high and mighty on me, Officer," he said, hiding laughter with every word. "And I'm not twelve. I'm not even fifteen. Thirty-five is more like it."

"Are you kidding me?"

"I know, right?" Shawn embellished, rubbing a hand through his dark hair. "You caught me on a good day. Well, that depends on personal opinion, really…"

Veronica became stern and serious, glancing quickly around the bullpen. As she turned, Shawn leaned forward and read the details of the case she had under her arm in a matter of seconds. _Recent, unsolved, store robbery and vandalism, no suspects... _"Does Detective O'Hara know you're at her desk?" Veronica asked, looking back at him. Shawn fell back casually and hiked up the chair a little, as if he was adjusting his seat.

Little did she know, he just solved the case that was hanging by a thread from under her arm.

"Did she bring you in for some kind of minor felony charge?" the cop pushed further.

"Nope. I'm actually her boyfriend. But don't tell anyone, Ronnie. It's a bit awkward, considering my current state." Shawn smiled at the growing look of confusion and annoyance on this woman's face. She was about to say something else, but after a second thought, she merely shook her head.

"Whatever," she muttered, turning to leave. "Don't cause any trouble, or you'll have me to deal with."

"Oh, Officer? Wait!" Shawn leapt to his feet, blinking away the dizziness the action brought on. As more snakes of pain slithered around his brain and coiled inside his stomach, Shawn reached out to grab the falling stack of papers. He caught them just as they left the folder, managing to keep them in one heap. "These almost fell," he explained, shifting her attention to the now empty folder under her arm.

A look of surprised relief overtook her eyes for just a moment. "Thanks, kid," she said, moving to grab the pile from him. She tugged, frowning when he didn't release them right away. A second pull had the same result. "What are you…?" Veronica trailed off when she looked at Shawn and saw him with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth gaping open.

"I … I'm getting something!" he exclaimed in a loud, emphatic tone. He abruptly dropped the papers to bring his fingers to his head in classic psychic pose, leaving Veronica to scramble forward and catch the stack before they tried to fall again.

"What the hell?" the officer barked, grabbing the surrounding peoples' attentions.

Shawn hadn't done something this theatric since one of his first big cases. He started to sway back and forth, staggering heavily. His head bobbed and weaved, and he kept his eyes closed. That part was so he wouldn't get sicker by watching the bullpen swirl around him with every movement.

"The store … tackle? Pikachu used Tackle? No, not that kind of tackle. Fishing tackle. It was a fishing store…" Shawn stopped and opened his eyes briefly, which was a really bad idea. The entire room was in spinning double vision, the kind of sight he normally saw after going on the Round-Up ride seventeen times in a row. He quickly shut his eyes again and continued.

"The storeowner, he's got a daughter. It … it was her! She didn't like the way he danced. No, wait. He wouldn't let her go to a dance? But not just any dance. Why do I see black? It's everywhere! It's like the plague. And a name, starting with R…"

"Rebecca Black?" someone shouted out from Shawn's audience. It sounded like Buzz. Why didn't that surprise him?

"Yes, Rebecca Black's _Prom Night_ – which is a horrible song, by the way."

"I hear that," he heard Gus mutter from somewhere to his left. Shawn shot him a small grin, or at least shot it in his general direction. He didn't want to open his eyes again, not after last time.

"It was prom. Her father wouldn't let her go to senior prom and she was pissed. I can feel her anger as if I were a teenager myself…"

There was an awkward silence at that remark, to which Shawn plowed right through. He staggered back until his thighs hit Juliet's desk behind him.

"She told her boyfriend, and he was even more pissed. He got a gang together, and … well, you can guess the rest." Shawn finally stopped, and discovered that he was breathing kind of heavily. It wasn't fake, either; he was honestly close to hyperventilating. He leaned with one arm on the desk as he slowly blinked his eyes open. Several of the officers were watching him, including an amused Juliet and a bored-looking Lassiter. Veronica was gaping at him, her expression saying more than the words she couldn't utter.

Chief Vick was standing in front of her office, her arms crossed and a reprimanding look on her face. Shawn shrugged. "I can't help what case speaks to me, Chief," he said to her in an innocent tone, earning an eye roll and a whitewashed sigh.

"Officer Morgan," the chief said to Veronica. "Go pick up the daughter's boyfriend, would you? Take him in for questioning."

"Are … are you _serious_?" the newbie asked, astonished. "You don't mean to say you take this … this _boy_ seriously? After all that crap?"

"Here here."

Shawn was pretty sure that commendation came from Lassie.

Vick scowled, the look on her face making Veronica stand at attention. "Shawn Spencer has been a valuable asset to this police force for almost six years. If you can't understand that, then maybe you should go back to the Academy. One more year won't hurt."

Veronica's back straightened even further until she was standing ramrod. "No, Chief. I understand perfectly. I'll go bring in the boyfriend now."

"Thank you, Officer Morgan. You're dismissed."

Veronica cast Shawn one last look of bewilderment before making a hole in the crowd, which started to dissipate once Vick barked orders to get back to work. Shawn tried not to sway for real as some invisible force pounded on his brain like a drum and upturned his stomach like a maraca. Maybe the theatrics weren't as necessary as he thought…

"Chief, I think I'm blushing," Shawn managed to say to Vick before she walked away. She stopped for a short moment and threw him a stern look that almost made his knees quiver. _Probably the nausea… _"Seriously, that was quite an ovation on my behalf."

"Shut up, Shawn," she said, almost playfully. "No cases for two weeks. And you're not getting paid for the Fishing Store one if you end up being right."

Shawn thought for a moment before nodding. "Fair enough."

He turned towards Gus, about to say something to cut off his disapproval at either not getting any cases in the foreseeable future or showing up the girl he now liked after five minutes. Instead, the words caught in his throat with a sudden cry. The headache abruptly tripled in agony, piercing him like a knife right between his eyes. There was no possible way he could hide it this time. It was too much. His stomach churned over, and Shawn grabbed his head with trembling fingers as he fell to his knees.

"Shawn?"

"_Shawn!_"

He was pretty sure one of those voices was his father and paused a moment to wonder why it took him so long to get back from across the street. Then he grabbed Juliet's wastebasket and shoved his head inside, emptying the defecated burgers and fries from his roller coaster of a stomach.

A variance of hands were touching him, strong firm ones on his heaving shoulders for support and a softer one brushing back his damp hair for comfort. After a minute or so, Shawn took a few heavy breaths and pulled away from the basket, eyes closed at the vicious sight inside. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and kept his head down.

"Shawn, are you okay?" he heard Juliet's sweet, tender voice ask him. He could only nod in response and find her hand with his, squeezing lightly.

"Kid…" his dad whispered, and it was incredibly weird for Henry Spencer to be whispering so close to Shawn's face. He forced his eyes open, relieved that the dizzy spell seemed to have passed for now. The old man was on his knees in front of him, Gus somewhere off to his right wearing a combined look of concern and disgust.

"What was that about?" asked his father, his voice somehow both gentle and strict.

Shawn took another deep breath, thinking about what he was going to say, before finally deciding to answer with his own question. "Do I smell cinnamon rolls?"

He looked over at a paper bag a few feet away, obviously having been dropped by his dad on his mad dash over to his puking son.

"Yes. Yes, I do." Shawn looked back at Henry's very confused expression. After what just happened, the boy was too weak and too tired to suggest anything other than the following:

"Can we go home now, Dad?"


	6. Coffee and Sandwiches

Chapter six: Pick up sticks. Go. Fetch.

* * *

><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 6: Coffee and Sandwiches_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>"How is he?"<p>

"Better, or so he says. He still won't tell me what's going on."

"Did he get sick again?"

"Once, as soon as we arrived last night. He ran straight to the bathroom and was in there for ten minutes. Stubborn kid wouldn't let me in; he claimed it was just carsickness. Thing is, Shawn doesn't get carsick. Ever." Henry huffed out a sigh, and it sounded like he ran his hand over his face. Obvious from his disgruntled tone, Juliet knew the father was worried about his son and confused about the whole situation – even if he wouldn't say those words exactly.

"Can I talk to him, or…?" she trailed off.

"He's still asleep. I think it might be best to let him rest in just this once."

"Did he eat anything after lunch yesterday?"

Juliet could hear the smile in Henry's voice as he replied. "I didn't take you for the motherly hen type, Detective."

Rolling her eyes, she explained: "It's not that, or not completely. I'm just thinking maybe he got food poisoning. If so, then it's unlikely he got it from the McDonald's, or we'd all have symptoms."

"Good point. I'll ask him, though I don't think so. Food seems to disagree with him. He's been hiding this for a while, though, since before we went out to eat."

Juliet frowned, scooting forward in her chair so she could lean on her desk. "How do you know?"

"Gut feeling," he grunted. There was a shuffling on the other line; Henry was probably moving the phone to the other shoulder. "How's the investigation going? Any leads?"

Juliet looked down at the files on her desk. There were still almost two hundred folders left that she needed to rifle through. Since early that morning, she's been looking for any instances related to Shawn's peculiar situation. Lassiter was at his own desk, fingers tapping away at his computer looking through online articles and search engines for the same reason.

"So far, we have nothing to go on. It's like whoever did this to Shawn vanished into thin air. Even the CSI's came back from the cabin empty-handed."

"Thought that might be the case," Henry said, mumbling something under his breath about know-it-all forensic scientists. He cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. "I'll keep an eye on Shawn and keep you updated. I expect the same to be done for me."

"Of course, Mr. Spencer." Juliet said a quick farewell and hung up the phone. Once she was off the call, she lowered her head to the desk and covered it with her hands, exhaling a long sigh to try and calm her down. _If we don't get a lead soon… _She didn't want to finish the thought, mainly because she had no idea what would happen if things kept going the way they were going.

Something was set down on her desk beside her head, causing her to straighten up and attempt to look professional. But Buzz McNab was already walking towards his desk, drinking out of a new cup of coffee on his way. Juliet looked down and saw an identical cup steaming in front of her. A small smile made its way onto her face; good old Buzz.

Taking a long drink of the coffee like it was liquid gold to her lips, Juliet dragged another file in front of her and flipped it open.

It was exactly two hours and thirty-nine minutes later when Lassiter stood abruptly from his seat and shouted, "O'Hara!"

Juliet jumped in her seat, every nerve in her brain wired on caffeine and burning with weariness. She was just about to tell her partner to get his own coffee refill this time when she saw his expression. Immediately, she was on the alert. He had a self-satisfied look on his face, which could only mean one thing.

"I found something."

Juliet rushed over to his desk as he sat back down and pointed at some words on the screen. She stood behind his chair so she could see it, too.

"This is an article written about Meredith Cope. Back in 2009, she reported herself as a victim of abduction. She claimed to have been experimented on for weeks on end, poked and cut open and drugged, and then one day she was just set free. Cope went home to her husband, but he didn't seem to have realized her absence at all. Neither did her children. According to them, she was never missing."

Juliet's brow crinkled in confusion. "How is this related to Shawn?" she asked.

"Read the fine print, right there," he pointed to a paragraph close to the bottom of the article. "There were scars and marks all over her body that proved what she was claiming, evidence of weeks of torture that seemed to appear over the course of a day. If this really happened, then what convinced her husband and kids that she never disappeared?"

"I don't know… Carlton, I'm still not following your train of thought."

Lassiter stood and grabbed his suit jacket from the back of his chair. "What time is it?" he asked randomly.

"Uh … almost eleven? Why?"

"I've got Cope's address. She's in a mental hospital, but her husband still lives there. Let's go have a chat."

"What?" Now Juliet was really befuddled. "Again, why do you think this is a lead? It doesn't make sense."

"Trust me on this, O'Hara. I've got a theory. I'll tell you in the car." Lassiter was already on his way out the door. He turned around halfway and called back, "Move it or lose it!"

Juliet threw her hands up in the air, grabbed her keys, and hurried after her crazy partner.

-::::-

It was almost one o'clock when Shawn finally woke up, and he felt like utter crap. He thought a long night's sleep would help his head feel better, but things only seemed to have gotten worse. Just lying down in bed and feeling the sun's rays on his skin was painful. It wasn't just his head that ached constantly now, but his muscles.

_Why do I feel like I just ran a marathon against Godzilla?_

Blinking his eyes against the afternoon light streaming from his window, Shawn forced himself to lift up into a sitting position, resting his sore back against the bed's headboard. He was in his old bedroom – army men, old Furby, He-Man bed sheets and all. It was the environment for a young soul, but at the moment Shawn felt older than before he was even turned back in time.

There was a knock on the door that made him wince at the sharp, sudden sound in the quiet. A moment later, his door creaked open and his father was visible. From Shawn's perspective, he could see the change on Henry's face the moment he laid eyes on his son. They went from expressionless to … was that concern?

"Hey, Dad."

And why was his voice so raspy? He needed a drink of water.

"Shawn... Are you feeling any better since yesterday?"

He could tell the truth, tell Henry that every nerve burned with the tiniest movement. He could say his brain felt like it was popcorn in a microwave, and that his fingers and toes tingled and pulsed with unusual pain.

"Loads better, actually," Shawn said instead, forcing a grin. Doing so caused his face to feel like it was being stretched beyond its limits, but he endured the sensation to make it convincible.

"You look like you went twelve rounds with Chuck Norris, you know," Henry said, crossing his arms in the doorway. Shawn's smile faded and he glanced across the room to the small mirror on his old dresser. His dad was right; he was as pale as a ghost, and despite the thirteen hours of sleep he managed to get, he still had dark circles under his eyes and felt exhausted. A few bruises were blossoming on his cheeks and forehead, all a light lavender color. Even looking down at his pallid arms he could see insipid colors, and somehow Shawn knew he would find them everywhere else on his body as well.

"Oh my God," Shawn said, raising his hand slowly to his face in shock. He reached his cheekbone, but then kept going up and ran his hands through his bed head. "My hair … it's a nightmare! I can't go out like this."

Henry rolled his eyes. "What makes you think you're going out?" he asked gruffly.

"My brain, normally. Though sometimes, I wonder if another organ controls my thoughts."

"Shawn…"

"What? I was talking about my heart. Get your mind out of the gutter, Dad. That's just wrong."

"Lunch is in ten minutes. Be down in five to set the table, or you're not eating."

Shawn was about to protest, to say he wasn't hungry anyway – because the mere thought of food made him nauseous again – but Henry already left the room and he didn't have the energy to shout. Sighing, Shawn tried not to think about how bad this appeared to be for him as he literally crawled out of bed.

By some form of miracle, Shawn made it to the bottom of the stairs in five minutes. He bit his lip against the pain of moving as he entered the kitchen and saw his dad at the counter making sandwiches. Observant eyes noticed six slices of bread, three plates, too much potato salad for two people…

"Gus on his way already?" he asked, moving as fluidly as his stiff muscles would allow him. He started to spread out the plates, napkins, and silverware around the table.

"Yeah. He called a few minutes ago, too. Lassiter and Juliet are on their way over with him. Apparently, they have some news."

Shawn brightened. News was good; it was something to build on, to work from. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but he couldn't help it. "It must be pretty important for them to not just call you."

"They insisted."

Well, that was a bit mysterious.

Shawn had just lowered himself down into a chair, hiding his winces as discreetly as possible, when there were knocks on the door. "It's open!" Henry called out. A few moments later, Gus walked in, followed by Lassiter and Juliet. All three froze in place upon seeing Shawn for the first time that day.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite detectives in the world," Shawn cooed, leaning back in the chair and resting his arm on the kitchen table. "Yes, that means you too, Lassiepants."

"What the hell happened to you?" was the head detective's response, scowling. "You look like you rolled off a cliff and landed on a pile of rocks."

"How do you know that's not what happened?" Shawn retorted. "Look, it's probably from when I fell yesterday running from the cabin. No big deal."

"Lassie's right, Shawn," Gus interjected. "You look horrible, much worse than yesterday."

"Gus, are you kidding me right now? I actually put gel in it today." Shawn's reply was accompanied with a hand running slowly through the side of his hair, which was styled like it normally is. It looked different with his younger face in the mirror trying to look older, but he couldn't do much about that.

"Okay, ignoring the fact that you are obviously _not_ feeling better, despite what you keep saying –"

"Jules…"

"– we're going to press on and tell you what we found out this morning. Or, rather, what Lassiter found out. It's pretty … outlandish."

"Was it that the Sun revolves around the Earth? Because I already knew that."

"Flip it over," Gus corrected, taking a seat at the table. "The Earth goes around the Sun."

"I've heard it –"

"Don't you dare."

"Both of you shut your traps and eat," Henry said, putting a sandwich on each plate. While Shawn had about a thousand more quips on the tip of his tongue, Gus easily moved his attention to the food in front of him. Henry sat down and, with a quick glance at the untouched food on his son's plate, sighed and picked up his own sandwich. "Please, detectives, start from the beginning."

"Alright," Lassiter started, "I found this article online, a story on Meredith Cope. She claimed to have been abducted for weeks only to be randomly freed from her captor. When she returned to her family, none of them had realized she was gone. Over the course of Meredith's disappearance, her neighbors witnessed her coming and going from the house, free and happy. Her husband and children were both reportedly with her the entire time and nothing seemed wrong."

"How do you know this isn't just a hoax brought up by the wife then?" Henry asked, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"No motive, nothing to gain for it to be fraud," Juliet answered. "Besides, she wound up in a mental hospital, not a mansion. That, and she had proof. She'd been abused, cut open and drugged for a lengthy amount of time and the evidence was her own body when she returned to her family. Still, the friends and family, even her coworkers were vehement that they saw her several times for the duration of her alleged capture."

"Oh, and here's the connection," Lassiter said, "When Meredith recalled the details about her capture, she mentioned bloody tools, the smell of antiseptic and burnt rubber, and seeing what looked like a metal bath tub on the table next to her. All things that, if I'm not mistaken, were in your statement, Spencer."

Shawn's mind was racing with all this information, making connections, deductions too fast for him to verbalize, theories still too raw to mention. He sat as still as possible, almost like a statue.

"So … what you're saying is, this woman was in two places at once?" Gus said, grinning at the ridiculousness of the statement. He laughed once, paused, and then laughed even harder. "And this was your lead, Lassiter? I did _not _expect this from you of all people. It's not possible. What are you saying, did she time travel to make up for the missing time?"

"Shawn?" Juliet said, her voice rising over Gus's chuckles. She'd noticed his silence and was the first to say something about it. "What are you thinking? Are you having any visions about this?"

Shawn blinked, seemingly out of a trance. "What did the husband say when you talked to him?" he asked, his voice quiet.

"How did you know we talked to him? No, you know what? Don't answer that." Lassiter rolled his eyes at his own stupidity for even asking that question.

"Did he say there was anything … different about the wife that was with him during Meredith's capture?"

Juliet's smirk was small, but it showed nonetheless that she was still amazed by his "psychic powers" even after all this time of knowing him. "Yes. He said that it wasn't very noticeable, but she seemed livelier all of a sudden, like she had more energy. Apparently she hasn't been that way in a long time, almost six years, so it was a nice change."

_No…_ Shawn thought, his mind exploding with an epiphany._ It can't be… _

"She also looked slimmer, again like she did about five to six years prior."

Shawn's face paled even further, causing his mysterious bruises to become bright against his skin.

Lassiter jumped in then, not willing to be left out of this discovery. "Towards a few days before … I guess we can call her the kidnapped Meredith? … Before she escaped her captor and went home, the Meredith Cope that was already there had developed some sort of flu. She would get sick and claim to feel full body weakness and stiffness in her joints…"

Shawn closed his eyes, scrunching them shut against what was fast becoming the only explanation.

"…She had left for work one day, arrived on schedule, and left early due to her sickness. That night, the kidnapped Meredith returned home, not sick at all but certainly worse for wear. Her car was found abandoned on the side of the road later."

In his mind, Shawn could see Dr. Teri Roth standing by the entrance to the SBPD as his father was leading him out last night. She was too busy staring at him with concern to realize her clipboard was low enough for him to see the latest test results.

"Shawn? Shawn, are you alright?" Gus asked. He had been silent for some time now, apparently. When he opened his eyes, all four of them were watching him. For a second, he looked like he was about to be sick again, but he gulped the urge away and set his hands down flat on the table in front of him.

"I know what I am…" he whispered, his eyes downcast.

"What are you talking about?" Henry asked, peering closer at the teen.

"There was an abnormality in my DNA test, right? Tiny enough to ignore?"

"Yes, but …" Juliet trailed off, stepping closer to Shawn's side as she became more confused and further worried. "What's that got to do with…?"

"The abnormality isn't just a glitch. It means something went wrong when I was … growing. It stopped me too early. That's why I'm not as old as I should be…"

"Spencer, what the hell are you blabbering about?" Lassiter bellowed, his hands on his hips.

"The amniotic fluid is meant to grow people outside of the womb, but not this fast. This is unnatural… I'm…" Shawn would've stood up abruptly if his legs weren't shaking so badly. The quiver followed up into his arms, causing his hands to form fists to try and hide it.

"Shawn, hey," Juliet said, resting her hand on his shoulder for encouragement. It was meant to comfort, but it only made him wince in pain. She immediately retracted it and instead used her words. "What did you figure out? How did this happen to you?"

"Don't you see? It didn't _happen_ to me," Shawn said, his voice trembling. He looked up finally, into each and every one of their eyes. His own hazel ones were round and, to say the least, looked astonished at his own realization.

"I'm … I'm a clone."


	7. A Nightmare

Chapter seven, my favorite number.

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><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 7: A Nightmare_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>The room was silent for about five seconds in total, in which Shawn took in each reaction with wide eyes. Lassiter frowned and rolled his eyes, obviously skeptical. Juliet's eyebrows climbed up her forehead and were hiding in her bangs, still watching him carefully. Gus had paused mid chew, struggling to gulp down the piece of sandwich in his mouth. A scoff suddenly shattered the quiet like glass. Henry leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his lips upturned in a mocking smile.<p>

"Let's be a _little_ realistic here," he said, looking from the teen to the detectives, then over at Gus. "I've went along with these events, albeit hesitantly, with an open mind the entire time. But it stops here."

"Meredith Cope," Shawn said with a dry throat, gazing directly at the balding man. "She was cloned. I don't know how, or why, or by whom. But it makes sense…"

"Shawn, _none_ of what you're saying makes a lick of sense," Henry retorted vehemently.

"The real one was taken, and the clone replaced her," Shawn persisted, voice still shaking. Juliet and Gus seemed to cling to every word he spoke, their own mind's racing with the explanation. Lassiter had turned around and walked a bit away, lost in thought himself. "But the copy was incomplete, too – a few years younger than she should've been. Something went wrong with her, just like with me."

Henry shook his head, unable to recognize the explanation. Gus looked to be in the same boat, but he was on the edge, prepared to jump into the unfamiliar waters. He glanced Shawn over two, three times, as if he would suddenly look more clone-like to convince him.

"This is ridiculous," the older Spencer stated. He stood up and took his plate with him to the trashcan, throwing out the rest of his food. "I'm not going to listen to this. Shawn, eat your sandwich and –"

"Why don't you ever listen to me when I need you to?" Shawn demanded, his voice rising as his anger got the best of him. It was a relief, for once, to turn his focus into a fight. It strayed him from the pain he felt in his chest that reminded him of the truth. "You never, ever listen. It's like all your hair moved from your scalp to inside your ears and you've gone deaf."

Henry whipped around, his lips pursed and his face growing a familiar shade of magenta. "Don't, Shawn. Don't try and convince me of what you're saying, because I won't believe a single word of it."

"And why not?"

"Because you're confusing science fiction with reality! Ever since the DNA test, I've tried to keep an open mind about this whole situation, but enough is enough."

Shawn forced himself to a stand, ignoring the wave of dizziness that struck him behind the eyes. "There is never going to be a normal explanation for why I am twenty years younger, Dad! Don't be so naïve into hoping for one."

"You should just call me Henry if you're claiming to not be my son now. That's what you're doing, isn't it?" Henry exclaimed, pointing at the teen from across the room. "If you say you aren't my real son, then where is he?"

Shawn gasped, exasperation and growing exhaustion making it hard to properly argue. A quick glance over told him Gus, Juliet, and Lassiter were watching with rapt attention, hesitant to get in the middle of the dispute.

"I don't know."

"_That's_ comforting. What happened to convincing us the real Shawn is you, hm?"

"That argument kinda flew out the window when I figured out I was a copy!" Shawn practically shouted. He swayed on his feet and took a stumbling step forward to stop himself from falling over. Henry was too busy fuming to notice.

"How am I supposed to believe that cloning humans exists, Shawn? There's no evidence, no proof."

"Are you blind? I _am _proof!"

"I won't subject myself to this stupidity!"

Shawn blinked, realizing something. "You're just afraid it's true, because if it is, then the real Shawn is out there somewhere being … experimented on, turned into Frankenstein. You're afraid he's with the same person that created me."

"How do you have all the same memories then?"

Shawn's shoulders shrugged. "I don't know."

"You're saying you grew fifteen years old in a matter of _hours?_"

"Yes! Or, I don't know. Maybe it took weeks. I don't know how the scientific process works. We'd have to find the person behind this, which is what I thought we were trying to do!"

Henry's face flashed purple for a moment as he stepped closer to the bruised teen. "Shawn, I'm going to say this once more, and that's final. Human clones _don't _exist, and you aren't one of them. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation for how this happened to you."

"Is it that you can't stand that I figured it out before you?" Shawn demanded, huffing. A red flush bloomed over his pale face and sheen of sweat was forming on his brow and the back of his neck. "Because that's a little immature, especially for you."

"I mean it, Shawn."

"I mean it more!" Shawn shouted; he was fed up with the defiance his father was showing. His hands formed white fists by his sides, and after a moment they started to shake uncontrollably. "We need to stop messing around and find the person who did this! Then we'll find the real Shawn and hopefully –"

"I told you, I'm _not_ listening to this, Shawn!"

"I'M NOT SHAWN!"

The quiet after that yell was deafening, but the teenager was sure of the truth behind the words. Henry's eyes went wide, and he looked about to snap – funny how things could go back to the way they were between them just because he was a kid again. Both were stubborn, a pair of rams crashing into each other to prove themselves.

Shawn was breathless, and he clutched his hands to his chest to try and stop them shaking. The quivers only spread, vibrating up his shoulders, down his spine, and clacking his knees together. The weakness from earlier returned ten-fold and he sagged, the edges of his vision fading to black like he was looking through a tunnel. There must've been something written on his face, because a look of alarm appeared on everyone's faces.

Juliet moved quickly towards him, calling out his name just as his legs gave out. Henry moved, too, catching Shawn by the sleeve of his shirt while the female detective managed to place her arm under his head.

His entire body felt heavy, like stronger gravity was pulling him towards the center of the planet. Involuntary vibrations coursed all through him, tensing and flailing his limbs. He could feel his head throwing backwards on its own, but couldn't stop it.

Listening to the others shouting for an ambulance to be called, his eyes rolled towards the back of his head and like a light, he was out.

-::::-

It was a seizure.

Gus didn't know what to think about that. He knew what seizures were, of course, but never in the right world would he think that Shawn would have one. Or … teenaged-cloned-Shawn, or … what the heck was he supposed to call that kid now? He wasn't completely convinced of the clone theory, but he was still the most convinced out of all the others.

After his supposed best friend collapsed in the kitchen, he'd started to convulse. Juliet held his head and neck safely in her hands and lap while Henry pressed down on his arms. Lassiter ran over and held down Shawn's legs while Gus snatched his cell phone and called for an ambulance. The boy was still seizing when the paramedics stormed inside, and it was chaos from then on until they left with Shawn on a gurney. They passed by Gus on the way out, and all he could see were the whites of the boy's open eyes and pale frothing at the corners of his mouth.

It was then Gus decided to make a trip to the bathroom and gulp down five Tums in an effort to calm his queasy stomach.

They were in the hospital waiting room now, and it had been – Gus checked his watch again – two hours and forty-five minutes since they walked through the doors and demanded an update on Shawn's condition. Henry had just gone up for the sixth time to pester the nurses. Juliet was sitting next to him, her foot tapping its heel incessantly on the tiled floors. Lassiter, who had went back to the station earlier to update the Chief, had just returned and was typing something on his phone a few seats away.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't tell you any more at this time…" the nurse's voice carried over to his ears, obviously annoyed but trying to hide it and be polite to the older Spencer. Gus sighed and heaved himself to his feet, about to tell Henry to leave the poor woman alone in his bravest voice.

He didn't get the chance. Just then, a man in a white coat exited the restricted area and walked straight over to Henry. Gus paused mid-step and watched, noticing the interest Henry was suddenly having in what the doctor was saying. Turning around, Gus called gently to Juliet and pointed at the pair at the nurse's station. She got to her feet immediately and both headed over.

The doctor looked over at them as they approached, eyebrows rising expectantly. "More family of Shawn Spencer?" he asked, looking the Henry to confirm. Nods were exchanged.

"How is he?" Gus blurted out, feeling rather conflicted with worry about Shawn and reluctance to get attached if it turns out the boy isn't really him.

"As I was saying to Mr. Spencer, I'm Dr. Maroni. Shawn Spencer came in with a fading seizure, though brain scans indicated it was fairly massive in strength before he arrived at the hospital. There wasn't any brain damage, so far as we can tell, but we did find some abnormalities with some of the tests we ran."

"What do you mean, 'abnormalities'?" Juliet asked. The word echoed in Gus's head, reminding him of what Shawn said earlier about why there was a glitch in his DNA.

Dr. Maroni frowned and shook his head. "It's difficult to say. We did a series of x-rays, scans, blood tests, and skin tests on his body where the bruising occurred. All of the results indicated severe disintegration of his cells that's only seen in cases of the elderly."

"What's being done? What are you doing to help him?" Gus asked, keeping his breathing under control.

Dr. Maroni looked both sad and confused as he turned to him and answered: "Well, we've made him comfortable and gave him some morphine for the muscle aches, but there's not much else we can do."

"What are you talking about?" Henry demanded, frowning.

"I'm afraid … your son is dying, Mr. Spencer," the doctor announced, true sorrow in his voice as he spoke.

Gus's breath caught in his throat, quickly forming a lump that was hard to swallow. Juliet's hand went to cover her mouth, but the words, "Of what?" slipped out in a whisper.

The doctor turned to her and said, "Old age."

"What? He's … he's just a boy."

"His cells are trying to replicate themselves and grow faster than they're supposed to, which is causing their rapid breakdown and instability. He's literally falling apart."

Gus closed his eyes against this awful reality. He didn't expect this, not one bit. Juliet's hand gripped his forearm for comfort; he could feel her shaking out of suppressed shock, and just then he realized something for the both of them.

It didn't matter if Shawn was a clone or not.

It was still Shawn. He was still real.

His best friend was still dying, no matter what a DNA test claimed.

None of them had said anything for almost a full minute, causing the doctor to take a step back, prepared to leave. Henry stopped him with two words.

"How long?"

Dr. Maloni looked at the clock on the wall and thought for a moment. "I give it another twelve hours before his organs start to shut down, and then another three before his lungs collapse. There's a strong possibility he'll have more seizures before then, and a chance that one of them could lead to brain death. In total, I give him twenty hours until his heart gives out on him. I'm sorry."

Gus swallowed against the lump forming in his throat, casting a glance at Henry. The father looked deep in thought, eyes lowered and hands hanging limply by his sides. Juliet's grip tightened on his arm, but other than that she was keeping it together better than he was, it seemed. A quiet exhale from behind notified him that Lassiter had been listening the entire time.

"When … can we see him?" Gus asked tentatively.

"You can visit him now. He's resting, but awake. All the staff have taken a shine to him," Dr. Maloni added, a distant smile on his face proving that he was included in that grouping. "He's got quite a distinct charm, your son."

"Yeah," Henry said, nodded lightly. "You say charm. I say sarcasm."

"We'll settle on wittiness," the doctor compromised, stepping backwards and gesturing for the others to follow.

Gus's feet felt like lead, gluing him to the spot, but Juliet's strong tug couldn't be resisted.

Off they went to confront a nightmare.


	8. The Innocents

Chapter eight, yo. I really like a scene in this chapter. Tell me which part is your favorite!

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><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 8: The Innocents_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Juliet was the third person to enter, after Gus and Henry. The tangy smell of clean sheets met her nose, and a rhythmic beeping flowed to her ears. It was the sound of Shawn's heart, pumping away the last minutes of his life. Sucking in a deep breath for courage, Juliet walked around the privacy sheet hanging from the ceiling.<p>

A pang of pure fear struck her in the chest as she gazed upon him. Shawn looked ghostly pale, almost translucent. The only color on him was his messy dark hair and the blue and yellow bruises spreading like a plague over his skin, speckled here and there with purple and green. Electrodes were attached to his temples and his chest, while an IV snaked out from his right hand and into the machinery beside his bed.

Henry and Gus had stopped in front of her, both entranced with how small and sickly Shawn looked. Even Lassiter behind her muttered something under his breath in response to his appearance. It sounded a lot like, "Jesus Christ", though she couldn't be sure.

The boy blinked at all of them tiredly. "What are you guys doing here?" he said quietly, almost unhappily.

"Why do you think, kid?" Henry replied, walking over to take the only seat by Shawn's bed.

Shawn shook his head slowly. "No, I mean … you should be trying to find the real Shawn."

"We will," Juliet assured him, "But you're forgetting something. You're the real Shawn, too."

"No," he repeated, closing his eyes and sighing. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are," Gus backed her up. "You act the same, you think the same … and you're both psychic."

"That doesn't mean anything, Gus. Right?" Shawn turned his head towards the elder Spencer, who had a frown on his face as he looked at the boy. "You know the truth now, don't you? You can only have one son, Henry, and it isn't me. It shouldn't be me, anyway. I've got a really short expiration date."

"Shawn…"

"Don't," Shawn stopped him, speaking weaker with every word like it took a great effort to speak. "Just … save the real Shawn. Pretending to care about me isn't going to help him… I shouldn't even exist, anyway." He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, but scrunched his eyes closed instead, weary. Henry was silent.

Juliet didn't like this. It wasn't like Shawn to only mention the negative side in things. He was always so positive, so optimistic in every aspect of his life. Whenever it rained outside, he would come over to her house and watch a movie with her to brighten her up. When the suspect in a case escaped, he would speak only words of support, never bringing anyone down about it. He was a light-bringer.

This Shawn brought sorrow.

And yet, at the same time, he was still trying to be encouraging, telling them to save the real Shawn and leave him behind. If only there was a way to be with the both of them at the same time.

Just then, Lassiter's phone dinged, indicating he received a text message. Juliet looked over as he read it to himself.

"Does the Chief have any news?" she asked.

"Dr. Roth got her test results back from her contacts in LA," the detective announced. He looked at the teenager in the bed with no emotion in his face. "Looks like your clone theory is officially right, Spencer."

"How did they find that out?" Gus wondered. Juliet could see Henry scowling with thought in the background.

"They looked into the old results of animal cloning and there were similar cases of sickness and cell disintegration in the earlier subjects. It took a while to perfect the process to create Dolly, the first successful cloned sheep."

"So it's definite, but primitive," Juliet confirmed, nodding to herself. This all felt too weird, too much like a story and not real life.

"I'll bet you my left shoe and half a banana that the clone of Meredith Cope was dying, too," Shawn said, coughing lightly once he was done. "Didn't you say … that she got sick, Lassie?"

"Yeah, but then the real Meredith Cope showed up and the clone vanished into thin air."

"Wait a minute…" Juliet interrupted, making a connection. "It wasn't until the cloned Meredith was starting to get sick that the captor switched them around, releasing the real one. My guess is whoever's behind this wanted to try and make it look like Meredith was never missing so a trail couldn't be made back to him. He wants to stay hidden."

"But … I escaped. The timing is different … a trail can be found … and…" Shawn huffed. He shook his head and dropped it back onto his pillow, gulping. Juliet could tell he was exhausted.

"We should let you rest," Gus said, noticing the same thing as her.

"Nah, I'm fine," Shawn lied, gaze locked on the ceiling. "I'm the epitome of health."

"We'll figure something out without you, I'm sure," Juliet said, smiling a little. "You should sleep."

"I don't want to," the boy whined, and she couldn't really blame him. Why would anyone want to sleep away the last hours of his or her life?

"Sleep, kid," Henry grunted out, the first words he's said in a long while. He stood up and walked out of the room without saying anything else, and Juliet felt disappointed in him.

Gus promised Shawn that they would be back in a couple of hours and update him on their progress. After a moment of hesitation, the man held out his fist for Shawn to bump. The sick teen looked at it in confusion, then to Gus, who was grinning a little sadly. Shawn mimicked the expression and raised a shaky hand, tapping Gus's knuckles in a gesture that spoke volumes to the two of them.

Lassiter nodded his head in Shawn's direction and walked out wordlessly, leaving Juliet alone with the boy in the bed.

"Hey," she said, stepping forward so she was closer to him.

"Hi, Jules," he replied, looking at her with a glistening in his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized he was taking in the sight of her for what he thought would be the last time.

"Will you promise me that you'll find him?" Shawn whispered.

Juliet forced a smile. "For you, Shawn, I'll promise anything."

A ghost of a grin crossed his face, but then he looked away. "You shouldn't call me Shawn," he muttered, shaking his head. "It's not right. I'm not him."

"But you have the same memories," Juliet pointed out. "You have the same quirky personality, the same eating habits, and the same fantastic hair."

Shawn let out an airy laugh at that, a real smirk cracking across his face. "Yeah, well… I'm still not one hundred percent. Every moment that passes, that percentage lowers even further. I won't be…" He sucked in a breath and let it out. "I won't be around for much longer, will I?"

Juliet blinked back tears and reached forward, placing her palm under the teen's chin to gently turn his head towards her. "Look at me," she said softly, waiting until he did as he was told. "I need you to know this, so listen up, Shawn Spencer, because it's for your ears only."

Shawn's eyes widened, but he sat quietly and sealed his lips.

"You may have a mysterious origin, and your body may be the wrong age. But inside that mind is the same brilliant, funny, immature man that I learned to love. Now, I'm going to go out there with our friends and _your_ family. We're going to find the original Shawn and the messed-up person who started all this. Once we do, I'm coming back here to see you, so you'd better still be here. Do you hear me?"

A single tear broke past her barriers and rolled slowly over her cheek as her words burned in the air between them. Shawn watched it move with every ounce of his attention, raising his quivering hand to brush it away. His touch was softer than a feather against her skin, his thumb stroking across her cheek a second time as if he couldn't resist.

"Duly noted," he whispered, returning his gaze to hers.

Juliet leaned forward and touched her forehead against his, taking his face in both of her hands now. Closing her eyes, she could see him, the real him. She could see his face, fully grown and smiling and loving her back as much as she loved him. It was how he was supposed to look, wearing his favorite shirt and old pair of jeans, holding her hand as they walked down the pier and stared out at the water.

Instead he was trapped, lost and hurting, a single light in a forest of darkness. He was innocent in all of this, a victim, and she needed to comfort him, if not herself.

She pressed her lips lightly onto his, kissing the Shawn that was in her imagination. The connection lasted less than ten seconds, reality reminding her quickly that this was, on some level, inappropriate. Pulling back, Juliet opened her eyes again to look at him. There was a suspicious wet streak lining the right side of his face, and she wiped it away, saying nothing. His eyes were open and watching her, the ends of his mouth quirking upwards in a genuine grin.

"See you later," she said, pulling her hands away and stepping backwards.

"It's a date," Shawn replied, waving at her in a goofy way that only he would.

With a little laughter in her chest, fluttering around her aching heart, Juliet left.

-::::-

"Why are we here again?"

Lassiter parked the car and turned off the engine, staring at the sign for Bakerville Mental Hospital in distaste. He looked at his partner in the seat next to him and waited for an answer. Today was hectic enough, and it was hard for him to believe all the nonsense in the air. Still, he was a man of fact, and the facts were telling him that Spencer had been copied.

Why, on this wretchedly sweet planet, would anyone want to duplicate Shawn Spencer?

"We need to talk to Meredith Cope," Juliet repeated, getting out of the car.

"She's in the loony bin for a reason, O'Hara," Lassiter called to her, before deciding he'd better exit the vehicle after her. A few parking spaces away, Henry and Guster were just pulling up in that blue disaster called a car.

"She's coherent, Lassiter. That's all we need to question her."

"Visiting hours have got to be over by now," he retorted, looking up at the sunset that set the sky ablaze with pinks and yellows.

"Why are you fighting me on this, Carlton?" O'Hara demanded, looking at him with curiosity. "You know this is our best bet at finding Shawn."

"And you know just as well how much I … _dislike_ crazy people!"

O'Hara shook her head. "Suck it up, partner. Do it for justice." Just then, Henry and Gus walked up and looked between the two detectives. "Let's go," she said to all of them, leading the way towards the building. Lassiter cursed under his breath and followed the others inside the main gates, his fingers itching to carry his gun while crossing the grounds in case someone jumped out at him. That was reasonable cause for shooting, right?

It took a few minutes to get past security, and even longer to convince the head of the facility to allow them into the visiting room. The sun was completely down by the time they were seated comfortably on the sofas, the woman of interest sitting down across from them in a plastic chair.

"Hello," Meredith Cope said kindly. She had short brown hair and round, green eyes. Faint scars of various shapes and sizes marred her face and neck, as well as her wrists – all places on her skin that were visible.

"Meredith Cope, correct?" Juliet asked, despite knowing already. The woman nodded. "My name is Detective Juliet O'Hara, and this is Head Detective Carlton Lassiter. We're with the Santa Barbara Police Department."

Meredith smiled at both of them respectively, and then turned to the others who weren't introduced. Henry spoke up first. "I'm Henry Spencer, Mrs. Cope. It's nice to meet you."

"Burton Guster," Gus added. "We're colleagues to the department."

"We'd like to ask you a few questions, if that's alright," Lassiter said, not really asking permission but sort of stating it instead.

"Questions about what, may I ask?" Meredith replied.

Jumping right to the chase, Lassiter asked, "What can you remember from the time you were abducted in the year 2009?"

O'Hara cleared her throat, looking at him as if to say, _that was insensitive._ What the hell was he supposed to say? He thought they were in a hurry. Punchlines before jokes were necessary, though that may not be the best way to describe it outside his mind.

Meredith went quiet for a bit, her smile fading slightly. After a few seconds, she said, "You'll have to be a little more specific. My memory of that time is blurry at best."

"Can you recall where you were held?" Henry asked, resting backwards on the sofa.

Meredith shook her head. "No … I don't know where it is on a map, but … well, there weren't any windows, and the walls were made of wood."

Lassiter sighed inwardly. Cope was describing the last known location of the kidnapper – the cabin – but he or she had moved on already.

"What about your captor. What did they look like?" Juliet asked, pulling out a pen and paper to take notes.

"He never showed me his total face. There was always a surgical mask covering his mouth and nose, and his hair was covered. He looked like a doctor, and spoke like one, too."

"You heard his voice?" Gus questioned.

Meredith nodded. "Oh, yes. He would say things to me as he … did things. I was drugged for most of the time from whatever he injected into me, but I could still hear some of the words he said."

"Like what?" Lassiter pressed.

Meredith looked at him with emptiness behind her eyes, causing a shiver to jump up his spine. "He would explain what he was trying to do. He said he chose me because of my mind, of my intelligence. He … he wanted to extract it, or duplicate it, or something."

"Why you?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Maybe because I have an I.Q. of 150, or I used to. It's harder to be smart these days," Meredith replied, laughing gently.

"Can you tell us anything else you remember him saying?" O'Hara asked, jotting down everything that was being said.

Meredith looked thoughtful, and stayed that way for almost two full minutes. She looked a little lost by the end of it, coming out of a trance with the shake of a head. Lassiter suppressed the urge to make a disturbed face, but only because this woman actually seemed saner than most of the loons stacked up in this place. She was only here because of the trauma she'd endured; she'd never quite moved on from it, and the basic tasks of living continually slipped her mind, like eating and sleeping. With three children at home, Meredith's husband Jeff couldn't handle taking care of her as well and checked her in.

Finally, the woman spoke: "He did keep saying something right before I blacked out and woke up three blocks away from my house. He kept repeating that he had to 'save his precious'. I don't know what he meant. I'm sorry."

"That's alright, Mrs. Cope," Henry said, smiling for her benefit. "You were a great help."

"Was I?"

"Quite. Sorry to inconvenience you like this," O'Hara added. Meredith waved her hand.

"It's quite alright. Not much happens around here. Despite the circumstances, this was rather excited, talking with the police."

They each said their farewells, shook hands – save for Lassiter, who couldn't bring himself to be completely professional – and headed back to their cars.

"What do you think he meant by 'precious'?" Guster wondered out loud, standing by Lassiter's red Crown Vic with Henry while the head detective unlocked his door.

"Well, what's precious to a scientist?" Henry asked, sounding like a teacher quizzing one of his students.

"His data," Gus replied. "His creations."

"Creations…" Lassiter echoed, pausing in the act of entering his car. "Creations like the clones he made to replace his captives?"

"It was only after the Meredith clone started getting sick that they were switched out," Juliet chimed in. A look of realization crossed everyone's faces at the exact same time, and though helpful, it certainly wasn't good news. Lassiter voiced their conjoined thoughts into two sentences.

"He's trying to save his clones, and if he knows when they get sick then he's been watching them. That means he knows Spencer is dying."

"He's going to try and make the switch," Henry said, taking several steps backwards towards Guster's car. "Gus, come on. We need to get back to the hospital, fast!"

"Why?" Gus asked, chasing after the elder Spencer while both Lassiter and Juliet rushed to get in their seats. Just before he shut his door, Lassiter heard Henry's response.

"We need to catch the bastard, don't we?"

Nodding in silent agreement, Lassiter turned on his police siren and tore out of the parking lot.


	9. The Clone and the Scientist

The moment you've all been waiting for...

* * *

><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 9: The Clone and the Scientist_**  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Shawn blinked his eyes open wearily, careful not to gaze directly into the fluorescent light above his head. His body was still sore and stiff, and every pore in his skin ached. He didn't know what he looked like, but if he could endeavor a guess, every inch of him was probably painted like a canvas. True enough, a glance downward at his hand, lying limply by his side against the crisp white bed sheets, revealed it to be mottled with marks.<p>

A weight settled heavily on Shawn's heart, an organ – sorry, _muscle_, as Gus would correct him – that was pumping away the last bits of his life. He could hear it now that he was more awake; he heard the hollow thump reverberate inside his chest as much as the high-pitched beeping from the machinery on his left.

A quick look around the room proved it to be empty, not that he truly expected anything different. How long had he been asleep? An hour? It barely felt like twenty minutes.

_Hang on…_

Shawn narrowed his eyes at the clock on the wall across the room. He distinctly remembered the others leaving at 4:34. It was only 5:06.

Why didn't he sleep for longer? _What woke me up?_

There was a shuffling against the tile floor on the opposite side of the privacy curtain. A shadow crept up slowly, growing larger with every passing second. The tips of shoes appeared just underneath the sheet. Shawn started, flinching at the pain vibrating in his body from his nerves jumping in surprise.

There was a pause, long enough to cause a sweat. The beeping on the monitor next to him increased in speed; his breathing became almost sporadic. It was nearly a full minute before Shawn finally built up enough moisture in his dry mouth to speak.

"Who's there?"

The curtain pulled back then, revealing the face of a very unsuspecting man. He was tall, or maybe he just looked that way from Shawn's lower perspective in the bed. A white coat, much like the ones worn by the hospital doctors, hung off his thin frame. His face was old and lined, bags under his eyes proving sleepless nights and creases in his forehead and cheeks. Hair as silver as spoons was combed over and shone in the white lighting, thin and frayed at the tips. He looked like a man with too many grandchildren to keep track of at once, and it was pulling him apart.

Shawn knew better, though. He knew who this man was, and not just because of the obvious. No, he looked into the man's eyes, the windows to the soul, and saw it there hidden in plain sight.

There was a glow of pride in his accomplishment, in his creation, that wouldn't leave no matter how many times he blinked.

"I've been searching," the man said, a smile cracking over his face like a split in a seam. "Searching for a way to help you, to save you…"

The man leaned closer, to which Shawn leaned twice as far away.

"I found it," he whispered excitedly, almost vibrating with something akin to glee.

Shawn forced himself to ignore what was just said, but the words wouldn't stop echoing in his mind. They cursed his thoughts with reluctant hope, and hope was something he really didn't want to feel in the presence of this person.

"Who are you?" he demanded quietly, keeping the quiver from his voice.

"My name is Dantero," claimed the still-smiling scientist, "and you're coming with me."

"What?" It came out as a squeak, but Shawn cleared his throat and pressed further. "Uh … no, I'm not. I … I don't think I should leave. My friends will be back any minute now with smoothies. Pineapple, of course. If you'd popped in earlier, they would've gotten you one, too."

"Ah, well. Such bad timing on my part, then," Dantero replied smartly. He peered closer at Shawn, examining him with narrow eyes.

The discomfort struck danger levels in Shawn's brain, tightening the knot of fear in his chest. His heart rate sped up again; the scientist looked at the monitor and then turned back to him. "Please," he said, an attempt of kindness in his old, scratchy voice failing miserably, "Don't be afraid. I'm here to help."

"Where's Shawn?" the boy asked, ignoring how weird it was to say that. "What have you done with him?"

"That's none of your concern," Dantero retorted, glancing at the clock on the wall. Suddenly, his stance was more urgent, as if he was running out of time. "We need to leave soon, before someone sees…" The man touched Shawn's IV bag, as if to check that it was working.

"What do you mean, 'none of my concern'?" Shawn demanded, feeling panic swell in his stomach. He didn't know what to do; he felt weak, helpless, and terrified all at once. There was an internal battle happening inside his mind. His fight-or-flight instinct was arguing with his curiosity, his need for answers.

"We need to leave," Dantero muttered, almost to himself. "I wanted to come get you earlier, but those people wouldn't leave your side."

"You could've snatched me up last night," Shawn pointed out, confused. "I was asleep in bed."

"I didn't have it then."

"Have what? The … the cure?"

"We need to go," the man reiterated, speaking quickly, "…before someone comes. They wouldn't understand…"

"_I _don't understand," Shawn declared. "Please, just… Is he alright?"

"The original? Why does it matter to you? Shouldn't your survival be more important?"

Shawn shook his head, a bubble of courage growing inside him and allowing him to speak easier to this stranger. "I don't care if you can save me and make me big again. My life isn't going to be the same anyway, as long as Shawn is alive. So … is he? Alive?"

The scientist paused, heaving a sigh. He looked back at Shawn for a long time, and it took a tremendous amount of effort to keep eye contact with this … this maniac. That's what he was, after all. He was obsessed, tortured by his own ideas, addicted to his own creations.

With a sickening twist in his stomach, Shawn realized that meant him. He was, after all, one of this man's creations.

After what felt like ages, Dantero spoke.

"I'll take you to him."

Shawn shot the man a look of suspicion. "Why should I trust you?"

"I left the serum in my lab, where the original is being kept. When we get there, I'll explain everything to you. You have my word, but we must leave _now_."

Shawn pursed his lips tightly together before nodding shortly. "Alright. I'll go with you, but only to trade places back with the original. Do we have a deal?"

Dantero nodded back. The teen was still wary of his trustworthiness, but he was willing to take this risk if it meant the original Shawn would go free. Even if this cure didn't work, even if he died in the end, there would still be one Shawn out there living his life with Gus, and Juliet, and Henry, and even Lassiter.

If he did this, maybe he wouldn't die in vain?

"Let's go," the man said, moving back to check behind the curtain for anyone approaching.

Shawn moved to take the covers off him, and was surprise when the action went pain free. His eyes trailed from the needle inside his hand back to the bag hanging next to him. The memory of Dantero checking his IV flashed in his mind, looking like he was making sure something was working. "What did you give me?" Shawn asked, surprised at how much stronger he was feeling.

Dantero looked over his shoulder and grinned at the boy. "I injected you with a temporary relief serum. It will help you move easier so we can get back to the lab faster, but it won't last forever. That's another reason we need to _hurry up._"

"Alright, alright. I'm going," Shawn said, throwing the sheets off his legs and swinging them over the side of the bed. "Give me a minute to get dressed," he added, remembering his clothes were in the closet. "I can't exactly go outside wearing a paper dress."

Dantero nodded slowly and went on the other side of the curtain, pulling it closed behind him. When he was alone, Shawn let out a quiet sigh and shook his head. This was getting out of hand, becoming too much. Leaving with the man who kidnapped him and cloned him was probably the worst idea he ever had, but it felt like the only option at this point.

In a bout of frustration, taking out the IV needle was a lot rougher than it should have been, making Shawn wince at the sting. Standing up was easier now that he was drugged with whatever the scientist shot him up with – it was probably why he woke up earlier, too. Walking near the chair next to his hospital bed, something caught Shawn's eye. Pausing, he bent over to grab whatever was wedged between the seat and the cushion.

Despite his current situation, Shawn felt a smile spread over his face when he saw what it was.

A plan formulated quickly in his brain, giving him – for the first time since he figured out this whole clone business – confidence that everything was going to be okay, for everyone. Call it a psychic vision.

Trying to contain his grin, Shawn wandered over to the closet, his father's cell phone in hand.

-::::-

"Drive faster."

"I'm driving as fast as I can, Mr. Spencer."

"The speed limit, in this case, is meant to be broken. Don't you think, Gus?"

"We're literally tailgating Lassie and Jules. If anything, you should be telling them to hurry up, not me."

Henry huffed, reaching into his jacket pocket for his phone. It wasn't there, so he tried the other pocket and came up empty. A frown scrunched up his face. "My phone's gone," he stated, checking his pant pockets as well. "I swear I grabbed it before heading to the hospital earlier."

"Are you sure? Maybe you forgot…"

Henry threw a glare in Gus's direction, shutting him up instantly.

Just then, speeding on the streets of Santa Barbara five minutes away from Cottage Hospital, Gus's phone started ringing. It was in the center consol rather than on Gus's person, allowing Henry to see the screen once it glowed up. He snatched it when he spotted Juliet's name, flipping it open. "Detective, tell your partner he needs to pick up the pace," Henry hollered.

"Mr. Spencer, Shawn just called us," came Juliet's hurried but quiet voice through the speaker.

"Is he alright?"

"We think so. He's still on the line with Lassiter, but he seems to be talking to someone else, not us. By the sound of it, the scientist got to him before we could."

Henry frowned, though the kid's plan to secretly keep them informed of his position was smart. Gus tossed him a look that screamed: _don't leave me out of this conversation!_ So Henry put his phone on speaker mode. "What are they saying?" he asked.

"Shawn's trying to get a location out of the kidnapper. He's calling him 'Dante's Inferno'…" Juliet sounded confused, though Henry couldn't blame her.

"Sounds like they're leaving the hospital," he said, thinking. "Shawn could barely move the last time we saw him. Where'd he find the strength?"

"Maybe he's in a wheelchair?" Gus suggested, catching on to the topic at hand.

"Shawn just hinted at the car we're looking for," Juliet said after a moment of pause. "It's a blue van."

The next few minutes were agonizing, both cars still heading in the direction of the hospital until they got more clues from the overheard conversation. The building was in view before Lassiter's car suddenly swerved left instead of right, speeding up. Gus hastened to follow while Henry called into the phone.

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's happening?"

"Shawn just mentioned Hollow Boulevard," Juliet explained. "They're still driving, it sounds like."

"Does it seem like he's there against his will?" Gus asked as he made a sharp right turn after the red Crown Vic.

"Actually, no…"

"Huh. That's a little strange, don't you think?"

Henry didn't reply, but he did smirk to himself. "He's leading us to the real Shawn," he explained, figuring it out before the others. "He must've said he'd go willingly if he could see the real one. They must be heading there now."

Gus cast him a worried glance. "What do you think will happen when they get there?"

"I don't know."

"Guys," Juliet jumped in, sounding excited. "Shawn just gave another street hint. I think I know where they're headed."

-::::-

The warehouse loomed high over their heads, shadows cast across the pavement opposite from the yellow light of the lamps. The sky was dark and cloudy, very poetic to the mystery aspect of the situation. Shawn stepped out of the van's passenger side once the car stopped, his nose crinkling against the stale smell in the air. The thud of the car doors slamming shut echoed in the empty evening air.

"Nice place you got here," he commented, walking after Dantero as the man hurried towards the metal door. He adjusted the sleeve of his sweat jacket that was concealing his father's open cell, which he prayed to every higher power in existence was still connected to Lassiter's phone and had transmitted all his hints and hidden details of their trip here.

"Come through here," the scientist whispered, waving his hand down a narrow hallway just inside the doors. Shawn raised an eyebrow as he went inside, walking slowly through the building with what one would call a mad genius trailing behind him.

"You know, I've got the name of a great interior decorator on the tip of my tongue," he said, looking at the bleak white walls lit by a single dreary lamp. "Just say the word, and it's yours."

"This warehouse is only temporary," Dantero explained moving faster to walk ahead of Shawn and take lead. "Until I find a better setting, that is."

"Oh, of course. I didn't mean … to judge…" Shawn's sentence trailed off as the hallway opened up to a larger room. His eyes took in the tall shelves, filled with boxes and beakers and science equipment. The lighting switched from a bright yellow to a dull blue, casting the color in every direction. The floor was mopped clean, sterilized, as any lab floor would be. It took another step forward into the room before Shawn saw some familiar things.

There was the small metal table, still covered in tools and syringes and knives. It didn't matter that they were no longer bloody – they were still as threatening in Shawn's mind as the first time he saw them.

Then there was the big, metal tub. The last time he caught sight of it, he was on the ground looking up and sort of preoccupied. Now, though, his eyes were able to distinguish this from a normal bathtub. There were tubes and wires streaming out of it from every angle, and a clear glass dome over the top. Shawn tip-toed closer to get a better look inside, expecting the pungent smell of the pink goo … but it was clean, empty.

"That's where you were born."

He spun around to face Dantero, who was watching him now with rapt attention. A light grin of nostalgia played on the scientist's face.

"You mean where I was grown?" Shawn questioned. Dantero shook his head.

"Technically, yes, but … I prefer to think of you as my own. If not a relative, then an extension of my mind, my ideas. You and your brethren are the closest people I have to a family, now that mine is gone."

Inwardly cringing at the thought of being connected to this man any more than he already was, Shawn thought up a reply fast. "By brethren, you mean…?"

"The other clones."

"How many are out there, Dantero?" Shawn asked, trying to sound innocent. "How many others are like me?"

"Oh, none of them were quite like you," came the sad yet energetic reply. "They were all fully grown. Their bodies and genetic make-up were stronger because the process completed on schedule. The only reason you're not the same as them is because there was an error in the oxygen system." Dantero gestured at the metal tub with an open hand. Shawn looked inside again and noticed a breathing apparatus. If his memory served him right, which it always does, that was the thing covering his face when he awoke two days ago. "I had to pull you out of the stasis chamber too early, or you were going to die."

"So that's why I was suffocating?" Shawn confirmed. The scientist nodded. "You still haven't answered my first question, though. How many?"

"Only you, now. I … I couldn't save the others. They're cells eventually died out and they stopped functioning." Dantero looked and sounded genuinely sad about their deaths, which made sense to Shawn, though he didn't quite sympathize. "This is why I've been searching for a way to save you," he went on to explain. "I've been close to a cure for a while now. I just needed the right genetic codes, DNA from the original subject. I synthesized a serum, and just in time, too. Isn't it wonderful?" He turned away then, fiddling with something on the table behind him.

Shawn steadied his breathing as his nerves were starting to get the best of him. Things were out in the open now, more information than before. Though he still didn't know how the scientist pulled it off. "You must be pretty smart to manage this," he said, trying to sound impressed.

Dantero's smile grew tenfold. "You understand now, don't you? That's why I chose you, the crime-solving psychic. Your mind was just ripe with possibilities, potential. I've been dying to meet you under different circumstances."

Shawn flashed a false smile and nodded, pretending to know what the crazy dude was talking about. "And what kind of circumstances is the original under right now?" he asked, stepping forward. "You said I could trade places with him. Where is he?"

"Ah, yes…" Dantero walked around a shelf and disappeared from view. Taking a deep breath, Shawn wasn't sure if he was ready for this, but he knew he had to just dive right in and do it. So, with clenched fists and a curious eye, he followed the scientist around the corner.

And he saw himself.

Shawn, the real one, was lying face-up on a metal table. His eyes were closed and there were a few black marks on his skin, seemingly made from a sharpie. They were almost like markers for places to cut with a scalpel. Gulping, the younger clone noticed the Velcro straps tying his original's hands and feet down. He didn't look any worse for wear, he didn't appear bruised or damaged or bleeding anywhere. He just looked asleep.

This was too weird.

Too … surreal.

It was like looking in a mirror, only this time he looked the way he was supposed to look – grown up, small laugh lines around the eyes, and a ten o'clock shadow on his chin. He was just … _bigger_. Older, and bigger, and so very real that it made the younger Shawn's stomach churn.

"Did you drug him?" he managed to ask in a steady voice, which was a surprise.

"Only a little bit. I didn't get a chance to run as many tests as I would've liked," Dantero said, disappointment evident in his tone. "The complication with your oxygen really threw the entire project off schedule."

"Just a … quick question…" Shawn asked, never taking his eyes off of the man on the table. "How … how old am I, exactly? Because my mind and memories are that of a 35-year-old, my body looks about fifteen, but how long did it take for me to, I don't know, develop?"

"Oh, I'd say … five hours?"

Shawn let out a small chuckle of disbelief. _So I'm literally only two days old. What … this can't be … I don't… _It felt like his mind was short-circuiting.

"I can tell you need time to process everything," Dantero said, stepping closer to the boy. Shawn's eyes were wide and he looked lost, his thoughts racing. "And once we get you cured, we'll have all the time in the world to talk. But first thing's first…"

Shawn was so out of it, he didn't realize that the grip on Henry's cell phone slacked tremendously. He felt the hard plastic device slip through his fingers and fall from his sleeve, hitting the ground with a solid thud that caused him to jump in alarm. Dantero stopped in his tracks and stared at the open phone in confusion, glancing back at the clone with suddenly narrowed eyes.

"What…?"

Shawn reacted the only way he knew how – rashly. Reaching behind him, he grabbed hold of a metal tray and swung it around, whacking the scientist in the side of the head with a loud yell. Dantero fell down at the abrupt blow, his eyes closed, and Shawn simply stared.

"Woah." He didn't really mean to do that, but it worked nonetheless.

Just then, the cavalry arrived.

Lassiter stormed inside behind Shawn, gun raised, and Juliet followed suit, both shouting out "SBPD!" and "You're under arrest," to the woozy-minded scientist on the ground. The young Shawn stepped back and gave Lassiter room to kneel down and arrest Dantero, who was woozy-headed and not quite aware of what was happening. Juliet cleared the room, passing by Shawn with a quick glance.

He smiled at her, looking rather smug and for good reason, too. "Did you bring me a smoothie?" he asked playfully. Juliet grinned back and put away her gun. She was about to say something in reply, but then her gaze travelled over his right shoulder.

"Shawn…" she breathed out, brushing past the teen and jogging over to the man still strapped to the table. Gus and Henry ran in just as Lassiter was taking away his suspect, and neither spared more than a single glance in his direction as they hurried over to join Juliet.

Shawn's smile flickered away like the weak lights above his head as he watched his family and friends ignore his existence. This was a victory, he told himself, despite the chilling sensation in his chest that told him otherwise. He did what he planned to do in the first place, which was rescue the original Shawn and return him safely to the others.

It wasn't until he was standing alone in a cold corner, watching distant smiles of relief light up Juliet and Gus's faces, did he truly grasp how different his life was about to become.


	10. It's Not That Easy Being Me

**Brittle Balance**

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 10: It's Not That Easy Being Me_

* * *

><p>The station was fairly quiet at this time of night. Most of the officers had gone home for the day, leaving a spare few at their desks doing the evening shift. If it weren't for the situation at hand, Chief Vick would probably be home with her husband and daughter. Alas, she was in her office, coordinating phone calls between the forensics department and the hospital.<p>

Shawn could see her from his seat in the bullpen, a chair next to Lassiter's desk. With his chin resting on his folded hands, he watched her hang up the phone for the fifth time, only to pick it up again. He could see the tiredness in her eyes as she worked. It was understandable; these past couple of days took a toll on everyone. A sense of gratefulness filled the boy up towards how determined she was to help him.

Those phone calls were to Dr. Roth and her assistant in their lab, who were given the supposed cure to analyze. The chief wanted to triple check that it was legitimate and wouldn't kill Shawn faster than he was already dying. After all, the serum that Dantero gave him was only a temporary relief.

It was a nice sentiment, he thought, to know the chief wasn't willing to risk his life, despite knowing that he technically wasn't Shawn. Well, he was, but … he wasn't, really… _Ugh, thinking about this makes my brain spin, _he groaned inwardly. Sighing, the boy dropped his face into his hands, rubbing his temples as his head began to ache, just like before.

"You're not gonna vomit again, are you?" Lassiter mumbled, not looking up from his paperwork.

Shawn turned his face towards the detective, poking an eye out from behind his fingers. "Dunno," he answered truthfully. "Though I may vomit if you don't change that tie soon. The colors alone might even make me seize again." It was a lame attempt at humor, and Lassiter merely scoffed in reply.

After a moment, Shawn straightened up. "Hey, here's a question for you, Lassie," he started.

"Oh, boy," Lassiter moaned. "I can't get one moment of peace with you, can I?"

"How come," Shawn pressed, ignoring the older man's attitude, "you didn't jump on the welcome home bandwagon, hm? As soon as they saw him – saw the _real_ Shawn, I mean – Gus, Jules, and Henry have been stuck to his side like sticky, yucky molasses, and they were all livid when they couldn't ride in the ambulance with him." Shawn swallowed, making a face as he tasted something sour. "Why aren't you with them at the hospital, Lassiter? Is he really not that important to you?"

The head detective looked up abruptly, assessing Shawn's seriousness from his tone of voice and the weary void in his eyes. He seemed to debate within his mind how to respond, and after almost a full minute passed, he finally spoke.

"As far as I'm concerned, Spencer never left. You're just as annoying and childish as he was before this whole mess ever happened."

Shawn hesitated, but couldn't help the small grin on his face. He nodded at Lassie before turning away, realizing the underlying meaning of his words. It was Lassiter's way of making the situation a bit more normal for him, and in turn more normal for Shawn as well. Normalcy was something Shawn craved now, way more than he could ever crave pineapple … maybe.

But it didn't look like his life would ever be normal again.

It was ten minutes of silence after that, to which Lassiter seemed very grateful for. Shawn was busy folding a piece of paper into an origami star when the station's front doors opened and four familiar people walked in. Shawn froze in place, his eyes locked on each form with the analytical gaze he was raised to perfect.

Henry led the group, his shoulders and face relaxed with a sense of relief that Shawn hasn't seen in his movements since meeting him for, well, the first time in that interrogation room. Gus was behind him, a smile on his face as he looked over his shoulder to the couple on his tail. Juliet was grinning, too, though she contained her relief and happiness a little better than the others. Still, her eyes were alight with a joy that Shawn was all too familiar with, and one that he feared he would never see directed at him again. At this point in time, it was directed at a man who's height, form, face, and hair Shawn was used to seeing in the mirror every day … or, falsely remembered seeing, anyway.

They were normal. They were happy.

They were the people he cared the most about in the world, slipping away from him.

_Without them … _Shawn thought, dropping the paper star into the trash bin near his feet. _Who am I?_

Henry went into Chief Vick's office, separating from the rest of the gang that was now walking towards Lassiter's desk. Gus cast Shawn an awkward glance and smile, one that he falsely returned with a sharp pang piercing his chest.

"Have you interrogated Dantero yet?" Juliet asked, being the first to speak.

Lassiter shook his head and closed the folder he had been filling with papers and files the last few minutes. "I was waiting for you to get back," he said, casting an unreadable look at Shawn, then at the older version of him. "You good, Spencer?" he asked.

Shawn bit his tongue at the instinct to reply.

"Clean bill of health," the man replied, not even looking at Shawn, who lowered his head and for once in his life tried not to be noticed. "Docs say I should take it easy for a few days, since I've been out for a while, and they're testing my blood for anything I might've been injected with. I feel good, though. Right as snow."

"It's right as rain, Shawn," Gus corrected.

"Really? Why would rain be more right than snow? They're both water, after all."

"Yeah, great," Lassie grunted, clearly annoyed by the banter. He stood up and carried the folder with him. "We'll need to take your statement today, find out what you can remember, if anything."

"Not much," he admitted, which made Shawn curious. "The last thing I remember before waking up in the hospital was playing Temple Run on my phone before falling asleep. Apparently that was two days ago."

Shawn closed his eyes, conjuring the exact same memory in his mind of Sunday night. Just before he played the game, he was on the phone with Juliet talking about their favorite snacks in preparation for a movie date scheduled for the following week. Before that, he set his alarm clock to ten in the morning, and before that he was listening to Don't You Forget About Me while brushing his teeth. He dribbled some toothpaste spit on his shirt while trying to sing and wiped it off with his hand. Shawn could picture it as clearly as he could see out of his own eyes, yet now that he knew it wasn't his memory, he felt lost rather than comforted by the perfect recollection in his mind. These weren't his memories. It wasn't possible.

After all, he was only two days old.

Shawn opened his eyes and zoned back in on the present conversation, trying to make his face as emotionless as possible.

"… can write your statement down at McNab's desk. He has the forms. You know the drill. O'Hara, come on." Lassiter left without another word, heading towards the interrogation rooms. Shawn watched as Juliet looked his way and smiled probably the saddest smile she could ever give. It caused his heart to ache with the need to hold her, to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Clenching his fists to quell the urge, he gulped and didn't even try to smile back, just nodded slightly in her direction.

Her grin fell and her eyebrows scrunched together with confliction as she finally turned away, chasing after Lassiter in a brisk walk.

"That was a bit rude, don't you think?"

Shawn looked up at his older self who was acknowledging him for the first time. Though, because Shawn knew how his mind worked, chances are he's been observing the teenager since the moment he walked up to Lassiter's desk, possibly as soon as he entered the building.

The boy ignored the question and instead asked out loud, "Is that really what my voice sounds like?"

Older Shawn smirked, and he could tell right away that despite the strange, awkward tension in the air, this wasn't as shocking to the elder Spencer as it should be. _He must have been told about me at the hospital. _

"Yes, and you know as well as I that it's a melodic, if not heavenly sound."

"I wouldn't go that far, Shawn," Gus said, standing off to the side and observing this peculiar meeting with wide eyes and a fascinated grin.

"So, you know who I am?" Younger Shawn asked, though he already knew the answer. "I mean you know … they told you, right? About…"

"I was briefed at the hospital. I'll admit, I didn't believe any of it at first, and I thought Gus had finally fried his brains watching too many episodes of American Duos while my dad was struck with a senile moment. But then Jules backed them up, and so did a doctor there at the hospital, so … I still didn't fully believe it until I saw you five minutes ago."

"Well, don't get too used to it," the boy muttered, slouching in his seat. "If that serum isn't cleared of voodoo hex magic, then I won't be around for anyone to believe." He raised his hand to rub his temple again, his heart pounding with a sudden bout of fear. The pain was getting worse, and faster than before.

Older Shawn frowned. "What do you mean?"

Younger Shawn shot a glance at Gus, who looked away guiltily. "You didn't tell him?"

"Tell me what?"

Gus spoke in a fast, nervous voice. "I wanted to say something, but Henry wouldn't let me. I have no idea why."

Shawn, the older one – _Man, this is getting confusing. If I live through this, I might need to change my name. Maybe John Bender…_ – raised his eyebrows insistently at his younger counterpart.

The teen gave him a weak smile that didn't touch his eyes. "I'm dying," he said, much to the other Shawn's obvious surprise. "Dr. Frankenstein mixed up his batch of Instant Shawn wrong. I guess he didn't read the directions properly, because I'm missing a few ingredients. I was also pulled out of the oven a bit too early, as you can see." He spoke with a false air of lightness, trying to make it sound like what it should be: no big deal.

Older Shawn stood in silence for a moment before whipping his head over towards the chief's office, where Henry still resided. "Why wouldn't he want me to know this?" he seethed. "I should've been told! He should've told me back at the hospital!" He had a scowl of disbelief on his face and anger in his eyes, a look he didn't sport unless he had a bone to pick with his father. Younger Shawn knew the feeling all too well, but he never experienced it outside of his body before.

He also never thought he would agree with Henry in an argument between father and son.

"Why would you care?" he asked, breaking into Older Shawn's thoughts and grabbing his attention back. The man looked confused at the accusation. "I mean, why does anyone care whether I live or die, now that they have you back? I shouldn't exist in the first place, and everyone knows this. It shouldn't matter if I die… It shouldn't matter to anyone."

"But it does matter, Shawn," Gus pacified. The teen flinched away from his own name and stood up, crossing his arms; he was looking more and more like a little kid than the adult his mind was programmed to be. "It matters to all of us because you're our friend, too. You're my best friend, just like he is," Gus pointed at Older Shawn, who wouldn't lift his eyes off his clone.

"Just because you're a lot younger than you remember doesn't mean that we're content with you dying," Gus persisted. Younger Shawn looked at his feet. "Not me, not Henry, and certainly not Juliet. Not even Lassiter."

Younger Shawn scoffed at the addition. "Gus, don't be a hot potato. Lassie thinks two Shawns coexisting is a sign of the apocalypse." He closed his eyes and willed them to understand the position he was in, the emotions he was feeling that nobody in the world ever felt before. There weren't enough words in his personal dictionary to describe them. "If … if I die, the universe won't give a crap, but apparently only Dad and I have realized this."

"The only thing I've realized," Henry's voice cut in, causing Younger Shawn to look up, "is that my son is in pain, and he needs support from his friends and family whether he likes it or not." Henry looked at the boy with sadness, but there was something else hidden inside his gaze. He couldn't recognize it. Taking a few steps forward, the eldest Spencer in the room continued to speak, his voice gentler than usual. "I wasn't keeping the truth from Shawn because I didn't care about you. I just wanted to tell him myself in private, because it's a difficult subject to discuss with him, and in turn you. I didn't get the chance."

Henry heaved a sigh and stopped a few feet in front of Younger Shawn, who was hugging himself with his arms more than he was crossing them defiantly. "I'll admit that when I first saw you through the glass into the interrogation room, I didn't believe you were my son at all. It wasn't physically possible in my mind."

"And you were right in the first place," Younger Shawn said, a tone of defeat to his voice. "I'm not your son. I'm just..."

"Shawn, dammit, will you stop being so stubborn and _listen_ to me for once?" Henry demanded, his voice no longer soft. His face set in the familiar Spencer scowl and he grabbed Younger Shawn by the shoulder, bending down slightly so they were at eye level – something he hasn't had to do in years. "Even before I discovered you were a copy, my opinion had changed. You know how? _By just being yourself_. By acting like your stupid, irresponsible, outgoing, and overly familiar self, you were able to change my mind – probably for the first time in history, too. Barely a minute ago, you called Lassiter by his idiotic nickname, you told Gus not to be a tomato –"

"Potato," Older Shawn corrected. "A hot potato. That was a good one, by the way."

Younger Shawn's lip twitched in an involuntary smirk.

"Whatever," Henry pressed. "Most importantly, you called me Dad. You could've called me by my first name, but you didn't. Because in every sense of the word, you were and still are Shawn Henry Spencer. Trust me; nobody could be as annoying as my son unless he _was_ my son."

Both Shawns plus one Burton Guster snorted at the comment, and Younger Shawn scratched at the top of his head to hide his face with his arm. He took a few deep breaths to reel back his emotions, because having a total breakdown in the middle of the police station was not ideal and disgustingly unwanted. Henry must've felt the shaking in his body through the hand on his shoulder, because he stepped forward and gave the teen a half-hug for comfort.

Suddenly, Younger Shawn realized what he had seen in his dad's eyes, the mysterious hidden emotion – it was care. Henry cared, and the boy knew it to be the truth. After all, the eyes are windows to the soul. He understood a little better now what the others thought of him, and he felt rather stupid to think otherwise_._ Younger Shawn leaned into the brief embrace for a second before pulling back, an easier grin on his face.

"Alright," he conceded, gulping down the knot in his throat. "Ok. Fine. But still … what if that cure doesn't work?"

"Then I'll just have to force that young doctor know-it-all to make a working one herself."

Younger Shawn barked a laugh, an odd sense of relief filling his chest and releasing the weight on his heart.

That weight was quickly replaced by the sharp pain in the back of his head.


	11. The Crescendo

We're closer to the end than the beginning, my friends.

* * *

><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Chapter 11: The Crescendo_

* * *

><p>"Waffle sundae … with banana whip cream … and pineapple chunks on top."<p>

"Right again," Older Shawn said with a grin. He was sitting at Lassiter's desk with the chair facing the wrong direction, having finished writing his statement a few minutes ago with Buzz. The station was even quieter than before, as it was nearing one-thirty in the morning. One might even hear the occasional cricket echo around the room.

"You know," the elder Spencer said, emptying out the cup full of writing utensils on Lassiter's desk, "after getting over all the initial awkwardness and the strange realization that there's another me running around with my thoughts and memories and everything that makes me _me_, this is actually pretty awesome if you think about it. You have to start letting me call you Mini Me."

"I already said no," Younger Shawn said without skipping a beat. "I've got nothing against being compared to Verne Troyer – the dude rocks. But that means that you're Mike Meyers, and I can't handle not being Mike Meyers. I just can't." He grabbed the first pen and dabbed a tiny glob of superglue onto the bottom tip, then handed it over to Older Shawn to strategically place back inside the cup.

"Technically, you're still Mike Meyers if I'm Mike Meyers," the man reasoned, taking one sticky-ended pen after another from his younger counterpart.

"Then Gus would have to be Mike Meyers, too, and not everyone can be Mike Meyers."

"Hmmm… true. Gus is obviously Robert Wagner."

"Oh, definitely."

"And Jules is Mindy Sterling."

"That woman is too awesome for words."

"Agreed."

Older Shawn finished gluing the pens and held out his hand for the glue bottle. He drew a globular ring of sticky white around the bottom rim of the cup and carefully placed it in the exact same position it was in before he emptied it. Every pen was in the same place as well within the cup. Both Shawns grinned mischievously and bumped fists.

"That's never a good sign," Gus sighed, walking up with two coffees in hand. He handed one to Older Shawn, while the younger proceeded to scowl at his best friend's lack of a third hand. Gus shrugged. "Remember the last time you had coffee? Does an embarrassing attempt at break dancing come to mind?"

Younger Shawn pouted, but his face lit up when he saw the bagel Gus had been trying to hide. "Yum…" he mumbled in excitement. "I feel like I haven't eaten in forever." He drooled a little as Gus handed over the food, smelling the fresh scent of blueberry before taking a big bite.

"Hey Gus, check it out," Older Shawn offered eagerly. "Say one word. Any word at all."

Gus deemed the demand odd and suspicious, but spoke anyway. "Alright, I'll bite. The word is … taffy."

"Salty pink gumball machine tap-dancing in Willy Wonka's factory." Both spoke at the same time, followed by their synchronized laughter. Gus was speechless, his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows higher than the ceiling.

"Isn't that super mega awesome?" Older Shawn asked. "It happens every time. Say another one."

"Mustard."

"Yellow colonel with a mustache playing Monopoly," they said, exchanging another fist bump.

"This is way too weird."

"Right?" Older Shawn gushed, bouncing in his seat. "It's like …" He lowered his voice just in case anyone was eavesdropping, merely out of habit. "It's like we really are psychic, but just with each other. And we're not even trying! Say another word."

"Spencer!" Lassiter shouted abruptly, causing two heads to spin around in surprise. The head detective was heading in their direction, an irritated mask on his face. "The older one," he amended, seeing as he had both of their attentions. "Just what do you think you're doing in my chair?"

"Trying to break a record," Older Shawn replied, grabbing the desk and pushing so he span around in rapid circles. "How many times do you think I can spin without throwing up?"

Lassiter stabbed his arm forward and grabbed the back of the chair, causing Shawn to almost fall out onto the floor. "Up. _Now_."

"Yes, sir, Captain Stiffnuggets," he said, standing hastily and saluting the salt-and-pepper haired man. Lassiter rolled his eyes before turning the chair around and sitting in it.

"Shawn?" Juliet called out, joining the group from around the corner. Henry followed after her, having gone in to monitor the interrogation a little while back. "Could I have a word with you in private?"

"Which one?" Younger Shawn asked, already knowing the answer.

"Um…" the female detective pointed awkwardly at the elder version, who shrugged his shoulders and went over to speak with her on the other side of the room. Younger Shawn stood up and leaned against the pillar next to Lassie's desk, sliding one hand inside his jeans pocket and eating the rest of his bagel with the other. He watched the exchange with hollow eyes, observing every movement as Juliet discussed something with her boyfriend – her _real_ boyfriend, as evidenced by her hand attached to his in the subtle background of their casual stance.

Henry sidled up beside him and crossed his arms, watching the two as well. Older Shawn flashed his girl a smile reserved just for her, and in response she leaned forward to peck him on this lips. The teen pursed his lips and looked away, swallowing down a pit that was stuck in his throat.

"What are you gonna do, kid?" Henry asked nonchalantly.

"About what?"

"You know."

Younger Shawn heaved a sigh, for he knew exactly what his father was referring to. He looked at his dad, then at the couple in front of them. A small smile spread across his face, a sad smile. "Isn't it obvious?"

Henry waited for more, but the teen didn't think anything else needed to be said. After a few seconds, the man nodded and patted him on the shoulder.

"So what were you doing in Chief Vick's office earlier?" Younger Shawn asked, taking the last bite of his bagel.

"Trying to find out how long the verification tests would take on the cure Dr. Psycho made," Henry said, his gruff voice turning sarcastic. "That forensics woman is slower than you after eating seconds on Thanksgiving dinner."

"Oh wow, that _is_ slow," the boy chuckled. "What about Dantero? Has he said anything?"

"The lunatic keeps ranting on and on about how he was going to change the world, and all this scientific nonsense nobody could understand. Should be locked away in a mental institution for life, if I had any say in it."

"Most likely he'll–" Suddenly the constant pain residing inside his skull spiked to white hot dagger poking in every direction, causing his entire body to flinch in response. Younger Shawn squeezed his eyes shut and bit his tongue against the scream building internally, releasing a quiet groan instead. He felt Henry's hand on the back of his neck for support and heard his words of concern. It took a couple of minutes to wait for the pain to pass and his blurred vision to clear before he could straighten up again. "I'm okay, I guess," he whispered, wiping his hand over his mouth. "Could've been worse. Probably will get worse."

Henry frowned, quickly releasing his hold on the teen when he saw the pain flashing behind his eyes. "I'm going to get you a trashcan, and you sit next to it just in case you get sick again, alright?" Younger Shawn merely nodded in response, seeing no reason to fight his father's order.

The man teetered off, and the boy pushed himself away from the pillar, wobbling a bit on his feet. The muscles in his chest were starting to constrict, making it a little difficult to breathe, and his hands shook uncontrollably. He didn't know whether it was fear or illness that caused them to quiver, but he stuffed them in his pockets to avoid questions.

He could wait this out without causing a fuss. _Just a little bit longer, _he thought to himself, forcing even steps over to a chair Henry was waiting by. _I'll be fine. Pretty soon, Dr. Roth will come up from her lab and say the cure is as positive as rainbows, and I'll be back to my full age, and … well, I'll figure the rest out later._

It wasn't very reassuring. However, a few minutes later, his mood brightened as he watched Lassiter struggle to pick up any of his pens.

-: : : :-

Karen hung up the phone for about the millionth time and released a sigh, rubbing her hand under her eyes to try and wake them. She checked the clock and groaned internally at the ungodly hour. _How long does it take to verify a damn cure? _

Cracking her back in a very unladylike manner, Karen tried not to dwell on the fact that she just sounded like Henry Spencer in her own mind.

It was taking so long, as she came to learn from Dr. Roth and her lab assistant, because it was a serum never before seen by either of the forensic scientists currently testing it. It took them, even with their expensive lab equipment that valuable tax dollars paid for, a few hours to analyze its basic components and figure out how it's meant to work in fixing Shawn. Only in the last ten minutes have they started actually testing it for validity, with hopeful results within the next half hour of observation.

She cast a glance outside her office to the few important people waiting along with her. The chief grinned when she saw the younger version of Shawn Spencer, his dark brown hair ruffled and sticking up in every direction. He looked so youthful compared to the elder Shawn sitting next to him; that was saying something, since the 35-year-old was known for his adolescent behavior.

But when she peered closer at the dark circles hidden beneath the teenager's eyes, the sweat upon his brow, and the unhealthy pallor to his skin, Karen prayed that thirty minutes more wouldn't be too late.

Her prayers went unheard.

The moment her wishful thought flitted through her mind, the boy rolled forward out of his chair and landed on the ground with a thud.

-: : : :-

"Shawn!"

Gus ran to the teen's side, having seen his face pinched in pain right before falling over. Fear for the worst set in as he dropped to his knees and rolled the youngest Spencer onto his back. His eyes were open, but they were swimming in unshed tears. His mouth was agape in what Gus first thought was a silent scream, which was terrifying on its own. Then he realized the boy was gasping sharp intakes of breath, unable to do much else.

"Oh my God," he muttered, his hands hovering over his friend with no clue what to do. "Shawn? Shawn, what's wrong?"

"…can't… I c-can't…"

"He can't breathe," said the original, who had raced to the kid's opposite side. He looked scared at the reality of the situation. Turning to his clone, he said, "Try to calm down. You're panicking, man, and you're shaking like Gus after an episode of American Horror Stories."

Gus ignored the untimely quip and instead opened his eyes wider to observe Younger Shawn's state. He was shaking quite a lot, actually, his fingers flailing in and out of a fisted hand and his knees clacking together. He was covered in goose bumps. The entire scene reminded Gus of…

"N-not … p-panic…" Younger Shawn stuttered, sucking in another stunted breath.

"Oh no," Gus said, his mouth going dry. The teen looked at him, and Gus couldn't tell if his head was shaking too or if he was nodding.

"What?" Older Shawn demanded.

"He's … he's starting to have another seizure," Gus explained, recalling earlier that day in Henry's kitchen. White eyes, foam at the mouth, the sickening sound of Shawn's flailing limbs smacking against the tile floor – the memory alone was strong enough to bring back Gus' nausea.

Suddenly there were four others surrounding them, all with fearful expressions and questions on the tips of their tongues. Henry knelt beside Older Shawn while Lassiter hovered behind him. The chief stood next to an extremely worried Juliet, a phone to her ear as Gus assumed she was calling for an ambulance.

"That doctor – Dr. Maloni – said if he had another seizure, he might go brain dead," Henry remembered, gripping the boy's knee to try and steady him.

Younger Shawn gasped for air, his face slowly turning blue.

Gus was about ready to hyperventilate, too.

_What do we do?_

-: : : :-

The SBPD head detective had no clue what to do except prepare for the worst, which would be helping the others hold the Spencer clone down while his brain turned into a vegetable. Lassiter cursed, his fists clenched in anger-coated anxiety.

"Ambulance is on its way," Chief Vick said breathlessly, flipping her cell phone shut. "It shouldn't be more than five minutes."

"Dammit," Lassiter swore under his breath. _That might not be fast enough. You'd think they would put the hospital a little closer to the police station! _ His muscles tensed as the gasping boy's head suddenly twitched violently to the side, popping his neck with an audible hollow crack. O'Hara fell to her knees in an instant, lifting his head off the hard tile floor and placing it onto her lap.

"N-no hosp-pital…" wheezed Younger Spencer his eyes clenched together with the forced effort of solid speech.

"Shut up, Shawn," Gus huffed. "Don't talk right now. Focus on your breathing." The dark-skinned man leaned forward to press down on the boy's left arm, for it started to shake more aggressively. The seizure seemed to be attacking like a merciless predator; one that knew its prey was cornered and helpless. It was torturing its victim slowly and painfully, moving through one limb at a time before, finally, it'll strike the vital organs and _pop_ goes kid Spencer's noggin. Lassiter grit his teeth at the thought, too busy-minded to wonder when he started to actually care.

Younger Spencer gasped, his mouth forming words too quiet for Lassiter to hear. The original so-called psychic bent lower and put his ear close to the boy's face. Suddenly, his eyes widened, and he pulled back. "Are you sure?" he asked, and the teen nodded weakly, his eyes weary but determined.

"What?" Henry and Lassiter demanded at the same time.

"He wants to take the cure," Older Spencer stated, glancing at his father with uncertainty. When Henry began to refuse, he added, "It's better a chance now than ever before."

"Shawn, if that magic potion doesn't work…" Henry barked.

"Then he'll die all the same! But if there's any possibility of success, it's worth the risk."

"He needs medical attention."

"What can the doctors do that they haven't tried already?"

Lassiter had heard enough. Without saying a word, he bolted towards the stairs, hoping he could remember the fastest way to the forensics lab.

-: : : :-

Juliet felt her eyes water as she looked down at the Shawn clone, his young face framed in her pale hands and his obvious struggle to breathe causing her own chest to constrict. Her eyes studied his pained facial features, thinking that despite the weathered impression to his eyes and skin, he still looked young. _Too young … far too young for this…_

In the back of her mind, she realized she could hear Older Shawn and Henry speaking – arguing – and noticed Lassiter run off in her peripheral vision. However, she could only focus clearly on the teen in her lap. Her fingers brushed absently at his exposed neck, rhythmically soothing over the heated skin. _He has a dangerous fever…_

Younger Shawn jerked again, his involuntary movements restricted by the group of people surrounding him. The twitch shifted his T-shirt lower on his collarbone, and Juliet couldn't help but gasp at the sight. Bruises, so dark a purple they appeared black, were rapidly spreading up from his chest like a hungry rash, devouring the paleness of his flesh. Tears pricked the detective's eyes as she looked back at Younger Shawn's face, spotting the beginnings of fast-growing lesions on his cheeks and forehead.

She also noticed that he was looking back at her, his upside-down gaze just as piercing as always, if not more so. To her astonishment, he pulled the corners of his lips into a faint grin.

"You … s-still owe me … th-that date," he gasped, his breaths beginning to hiccup. A droplet splashed on his nose and rolled down, making a crooked path across his cheek as he trembled. Juliet couldn't afford to remove her hands from his convulsing neck to dry her eyes.

"It can't happen if you're not here," she whispered, sniffling quietly. "You need to fight this."

"It's … h-hard to … f-fight some … something I … I can't … c-control."

She shushed him then, her voice giving out on her as her throat locked up. Younger Shawn's skin prickled under her fingers, and his back arched up from the floor.

Then suddenly, the boy was calm, still. His breath stuttered to a stop, his chest and limbs motionless. Juliet's heart skipped a beat as she waited for the storm, her stomach flipping over in unease.

"It's okay…" he exhaled, using up whatever air he had left in his lungs. His hazel gaze flickered to Gus for a moment, then Henry, and then Older Shawn, who seemed unable to breathe along with his duplicate.

"Shawn…"

His eyes just began to roll up when Lassiter's voice echoed around Juliet's head.

"Move it!" the man bellowed, practically jumping between Henry and his real son so he stood over the clone, one foot on either side of his legs. There was hardly any time to process the sight of a gigantic needle in his right hand before he pulled back and stabbed it into Younger Shawn's chest, directly into his heart.


	12. Friday Farewells

Ah, the epilogue. It's been a fine journey from start to finish. Let's see how it ends, shall we?

* * *

><p><strong>Brittle Balance<strong>

A PSYCHfic

_Epilogue: Friday Farewells_

* * *

><p>The warm light shone through the open window, casting morning shadows across the square room. Birds could be heard chirping in a tall oak tree just outside, singing a beautiful high-pitched melody. Their chorus drifted to the ears of Shawn Spencer, whose head lay cushioned on the tough hospital pillow. He was awake, despite his closed eyes and relaxed expression; the only proof that he was aware of his surroundings was the rhythmic bouncing of his right foot, tapping out an inaudible beat to the tweeting tune.<p>

It was a different sound, a light knock on the door, which finally caused his eyes to open. There, framed in the doorway, was Juliet – a stuffed white paper bag in her hand and a hesitant smile gracing her perfect face. Shawn couldn't resist his own grin in return.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she greeted sweetly.

"Hey, you," Shawn whispered, pulling himself up to a sitting position. "What are you doing here so early?"

"Well, you're being released today," Juliet said, walking into the room to stand next to the bed. "I have to go to work in an hour, but I thought I could be the first one to see you. I did tell you, didn't I? That after the original Shawn was found and safe, I would come back to see you?"

Shawn nodded, remembering all too well the conversation that ended with a surprise kiss. He tilted his head to look at the white bag. "And what fine dining did you bring for our classy date?"

She held the bag up for him to smell. "The greatest pair of breakfast burritos that will ever clog your arteries," she replied, causing him to laugh.

"Oh, I don't know if I should," he teased. "I need to watch my health. I can't go off and die young now, can I?"

Juliet pulled up a chair and sat bedside, tearing the bag open to use as a makeshift tablecloth. "I'm sure you'll survive," she said, handing him his burrito with a twinkle in her eye. "You're a fighter, after all."

Shawn chuckled quietly, taking a bite of the offered food.

"I hope you appreciate my sneakiness," she said after swallowing her first bite. "You're not allowed outside food, even if it is your last day here."

"Hey, I've been here for two full days already," Shawn mumbled around a large bite. "The hospital rules can suck it."

Juliet smirked, though it was the same sad smile as before in the station. It wasn't pleasant, nor did it make Shawn feel reassured. It felt more like … goodbye. It was appropriate, after all. Thinking back on the decision he made last night, the first real night he was awake in the hospital, it was only fitting that today be his and Juliet's last day together.

When he awoke yesterday afternoon, with his father and Gus and the original Shawn around him, his first thought was shock at being alive, and then confusion. His companions went off on a riff about how heroic the Lassinator was, charging in and dramatically puncturing his heart with a needle full of the magic medicine. Though the story made him feel a bit ill, and it explained why his chest felt like someone had been dancing on it for the last 24 hours, he was overcome with relief at _being alive._The cure – it worked!

Then he looked in a mirror.

Though the serum stopped his cells from deteriorating, it didn't restore him to his proper age. He was still in the body of his fifteen-year-old self, still with the mind of a man in his thirties, and no matter how happy he was at being alive, he was still a clone of the original Shawn Spencer. He was just twenty years younger in appearance, and he wouldn't look like Older Shawn until twenty years in the future.

It took a while, and a lot of solitary contemplation, before he could come to terms with his new life – and come to a decision. So now, he looked at the beautiful blonde detective smiling so bitter sweetly at him, and he grinned knowingly back. The two of them continued their breakfast in comfortable company with one another.

Their solace did not occur in silence, however. Juliet briefed him on what's been happening with the case. The mad doctor, Dantero – his full name being Jacob Dantero, a former scientist and graduate of MIT – will go to prison for illegal human experimentation and kidnapping. Meredith Cope has agreed to testify, but to protect the clone Shawn from any exploitation and exposure to the public, Chief Vick has decided to keep him out of the court case. The teen felt another swell of gratitude for that wonderful woman and promised he would hug her later.

Shawn joked and chatted with Jules after the burritos were long since devoured, the trash discarded lazily in the bin by the door. He tried to sound normal, though inside his heart was pounding. He tried to act like nothing was different, like everything would always stay the same for them. She clearly tried to do the same, and he ignored the way her voice shook at times, for neither of them needed to speak the obvious. It was all discussed with their eyes and how they danced around each other in a silent dialogue, an implied agreement.

When the time came that Juliet had to leave for work, she took his hand in hers. He squeezed it gently, his gut clenching in a knot as he forced his enduring emotions into a locked box and threw away the key.

She squeezed back, just as softly.

Then she left.

-: : : :-

Henry and Gus picked him up just before noon. Shawn sat in the backseat of the Blueberry while Gus obviously drove and his dad rode shotgun. He was dressed in a baggy _Tears for Fears_shirt that Henry brought from his old room, the scent alone bombarding him with memories of his teenaged years.

"Hey, won't Shawn be mad you gave this to me?" he asked, gesturing to the shirt.

"What Shawn doesn't know won't hurt him," Henry said. "Just … don't let him see you wearing it."

"Fat chance he doesn't notice," Gus commented. Shawn snorted in agreement.

"I'd say it technically belongs to both of you," Henry decided. "But if you want to fight over it, be my guest. I'm not getting involved." The clone rolled his eyes, but they were alight with humor, appreciation filling his chest at the words his father spoke.

"So where should we go for lunch?" Gus asked.

"Jamba Juice!"

"Smoothies are not a proper meal, Shawn."

"Come on, man! I haven't had a pineapple smoothie in forever," the boy whined. "Plus … we should be celebrating. I mean it's theoretically my birthday."

"How?" both men asked with puzzled expressions.

"I'm five days old today."

The silence in the car was almost deafening, broken only by Gus clearing his throat. "Yes, well…"

"Please, spare me the awkwardness," Shawn interrupted, "and just get me a smoothie. I'm alive, I'm happy, and I want delicious flavor."

The pharmaceuticals salesman sighed and shook his head. Nonetheless, he turned the corner and drove in the direction of the Jamba Juice. Shawn pumped his fist into the air victoriously.

"We have to go to the station afterwards," Henry said. "You still haven't given your statement from when you were taken by Dantero."

"Alright," Shawn agreed. "I need to see the Chief anyway. Who's recording it?"

"Lassiter."

The boy grinned. "Ah, the Bert to my Ernie. The Squidward to my Spongebob."

"That makes me Patrick, Shawn," Gus pouted. "I'm not down with that. No way."

"But I get to live in a giant pineapple!"

"I will not be Patrick!"

"I bet Lassifrass throws a party after I leave," Shawn continued, as if he didn't hear his friend speak.

Henry twisted around in his seat, scowling with confusion. "What do you mean, 'leave'?" he demanded. "I thought you were staying at my house, in your old room? We decided that yesterday after you woke up."

Shawn smiled with resignation at his father, a man he didn't expect to start missing before he was even packed. That was a brand new feeling in their complicated relationship. He turned to Gus, who had just parked the car and was staring back at him, his expression alone screaming with questions unsaid. Shawn knew that look all too well, and he even knew how the questions would be phrased. He knew everything about this man that he – no, his memory, his mind – had grown up with. Even when he traveled the world and only communicated with Gus through postcards, he felt an unbreakable bond with him that only brothers could share.

It was going to be damn near impossible to replace that kind of bond, and Shawn wasn't sure if he should even try.

Alas…

"I've had a lot to think about since yesterday," the clone said, his voice unwavering. "And I've made a choice."

-: : : :-

It was a Friday afternoon, so the station was fairly busy. Police officers were walking in every direction, some with stacks of papers so high they could barely see above it and others guiding handcuffed criminals to the cells or interrogation rooms. Shawn smirked as the memories of growing up in such a hectic environment whipped through his mind as quickly as the flap of a bird's wings. _There were a lot of good times in this place,_ he thought, easily maneuvering through the crowd. _Bad ones, too, but … now isn't the time to dwell on those._

As soon as they arrived, he split up from Gus and Henry, needing to tell the chief his decision on his own. Gus offered to go in with him, but fortunately his dad understood it was something he wanted to do privately.

It was good-bye, after all.

He didn't knock, as usual, before entering Chief Vick's office. Luckily, she wasn't doing anything he could annoyingly interrupt, unless signing paperwork counted.

"What, did you push all your work on a rookie somewhere?" Shawn asked, smirking. "The entire station can't possibly be this busy while the queen bee is practicing her autograph."

The chief glanced up, a glint of humor in her eyes. "Who's to say I didn't just finish early?"

"That would be miraculous, Chief! You must be some sort of genius, or speed demon… Are you a time traveler, perchance?"

Vick twitched an eyebrow upwards. "I sent Officer McNab to collect my fourth workload of the day, actually. He should be here in a few minutes, so I suggest, Mr. Spencer, if you have something to say then say it fast."

"Right…"

-: : : :-

Three and a half minutes later, there was a polite knock on the window. Shawn broke eye contact with Vick and turned around. He saw Buzz behind the glass, a heap of files in his arms. The boy walked over and opened the door for the friendly officer.

"Buzz, my man!" Shawn greeted warmly, and was rewarded with a bright smile.

"Hey, Shawn! What are you doing here?"

"Just visiting," he said. "I've got a statement to take care of with Lassiter, but that's about it."

"You might want to meet up with him soon," Buzz warned conspiratorially. "He's been getting impatient rather quickly today."

The teen winked. "I'll be fast on my feet, then. Thanks, Nabby. I owe you a coffee … or, maybe a hot chocolate, right?"

Buzz chuckled and walked over to place the files on the chief's desk. Vick let out a small sigh at how much larger the pile looked outside the tall man's grip. Heck, it was a mountain. Shawn grinned at the woman in encouragement, high-fiving Buzz on the man's way out.

"Shawn…" the chief started, looked at the teen with a stern gaze. She had little time to ponder about what he had just informed her, and it looked like she was about to question his decision. Then, after a beat of silence, she sighed again. "We'll miss you around here, you know."

Running a hand over his dark hair, which he had styled with much less product than usual, Shawn let out a laugh. "Don't worry, Karen. It'll be like I never left."

A smile flitted across her face, reaching her eyes, and it was enough to persuade him into action. Shawn walked around her desk and bent down, wrapping his arms around her while she still sat. Vick breathed out a startled chuckle, patting the boy's shoulder and leaning into his embrace briefly.

"Thank you for everything," he whispered, pulling away before the length of the hug became awkward.

"Good luck, Shawn."

With that, Shawn walked backwards out of the office, saluting the Santa Barbara police chief with two fingers and a smirk. The action brought amusement to the woman's eyes.

_Always leave 'em laughing,_he thought, choosing to ignore the faint sadness hidden in her gaze as well.

Spinning around when he was once again in the bullpen, Shawn made his way over to Lassiter's desk. Approaching the man cautiously, he remembered Buzz's words of concern and wondered how bad a mood the detective was in. Before he got near enough to see the flecks of gray in his hair, however, Lassiter spotted him and jumped from his chair.

"Spencer, I've been waiting thirty-seven minutes for you," he growled, grabbing the teen by his jacket collar and practically dragging him away.

"Really? Wow, my internal clock is _way_off today. I thought it was eight in the morning."

"Shut it. If you haven't noticed, the station is swamped and I don't have time to waste. Let's get this statement crap done with." Under his breath, Lassiter grumbled, "Still don't know why a rookie couldn't have done this."

Shawn pouted dramatically, walking a little faster to keep up with the man's longer legs. "Don't you want to spend quality time with me, Lassiebuns?"

"That's Head Detective to you, Spencer." Lassie replied, though it wasn't as biting as it normally was.

"Gotcha. Head Detective Lassiebuns. I'll make sure to refer to you as such in every foreseeable encounter." Without looking, Shawn could practically hear the man roll his eyes, and couldn't help but snicker.

A minute later, they were entering the only unoccupied interrogation room left in the station. Lassiter released the boy and immediately went to sit on his side of the table, setting up a voice recorder and a notepad. Shawn, however, took his sweet time getting to the chair.

"Ah, the nostalgia," he sighed, looking around the room with a smirk.

"What?" Lassiter grunted, not looking up from something he was scribbling on the pad.

"Don't you remember? This is where we first met. _Twice. _Well, technically, the second time was in the holding cells, but that's not as interestingly coincidental." Shawn pulled his own chair out and sat across from the detective, his eyes studying the man's face. He looked tired, though that was to be expected during a demanding day like this. "You should take the weekend off, Head Detective Lassiebuns. I'm sensing you need a relaxing break after these past few days."

"It doesn't take a fake psychic teenager to figure that out," Lassiter responded, scowling at the boy across the table.

Shawn stared back unflinchingly. "Don't worry, Lassie. Things will be back to normal sooner than you think." Lassiter's eyebrows pinched together in confusion, but Shawn kept speaking. "Oh, and by the way, I never got a chance to say thanks."

"For what?"

"Oh, nothing. Just saving my life and everything. No biggie."

Lassie released a gruff sigh, shaking his head. It was clear that he was frustrated by the boy's attitude – and angry, if the vein growing on his forehead was anything to go by. But he was also silent, avoiding eye contact, opening and closing his fists. Shawn smirked;_Lassie doesn't know what to say for once, hm? _Sparing the man the chance to speak and ruin a perfectly good moment of gratitude, he added, "I'm also sensing that you're gonna miss me after today," he insisted, his grin growing, though the rest of his face was serious. "Don't deny it, man. I know you will."

There were a few seconds where, without saying a word of explanation, Lassiter realized what Shawn was trying to convey. The detective straightened up then, his face blank of emotion except for the surprise in his eyes. Shawn watched him, waiting.

Finally, in a gruff voice, he spoke. "Just … don't let me see you in this room again, Spencer, or you'll have me to deal with."

Shawn nodded with a laugh, and reaching towards the center of the table, he clicked on the voice recorder.

"Let's do this thing."

-: : : :-

The following Monday morning, earlier than both Spencers thought it possible to be awake, the Blueberry parked in front of a large, two-story brick building. Several other cars around them pulled up to a temporary stop; the passenger doors opened, and teens of every shape and size crossed the grounds to enter through the four front doors.

Older Shawn put the gear in park and sat back, looking at his clone with a rare serious expression. "Are you sure about this, dude?"

Younger Shawn let out a resigned sigh, but his smile was confident. "That's the seven billionth time you've asked that, and the answer is still the same."

"Yeah, but come on…" the man trailed off, looking pointedly at the sign on the front of the building. "San Marcos High School? _High school? _It's almost like, because of your near-death experience, you forgot all about what high school was like for me… well, you. Us."

"No, I remember perfectly well how much it sucked," Younger Shawn said, still unwavering. "But … times are different now. It won't be as bad as before. I've got an iPhone now, and Fruit Ninja will keep me company on the dull days."

"Granted, that's an amazing app which holds no competition, but that's not what I was talking about."

"You don't gotta worry about me," the teen insisted, looking down at the backpack in his lap for a moment. It was a brilliant turquoise with Perry the Platypus's face covering most of the front. "My apartment's all set up. I'll be getting a check every month from the station to help pay rent and food and whatnot."

"Good ol' Chief Vick."

"Yeah. I got a new wardrobe, too, so that's not a problem. Oh, and I found a turntable yesterday. Did you hear?"

"What?" Older Shawn exclaimed, grinning like a gleeful child. "What condition was it in?"

"Almost perfect. Think I could have some of the records in my … er, _your_old room? Mike and the Mechanics, maybe some John Parr…?"

"No way, man. Some Survivor, maybe, but you aren't taking my Parr. Nuh-uh."

"Dammit."

There was a second of amused silence, and then Older Shawn shook his head. "Anyway, that wasn't what I was saying either," he asserted, getting back on track. "What I'm trying to say is that you won't have Gus. We both know that he's the main reason we survived physics, and geometry, and chemistry…"

"Not gym, though," Younger Shawn cut in, snickering.

Older Shawn laughed. "Hell no. Or biology."

"Oh, god. Remember when he fainted the day we –"

"– dissected the frogs? And his had a gazillion eggs inside of it?"

"To be honest, that was the most disgusting thing to ever be seen in a classroom."

"Aside from Mr. Fletchley's face, of course."

"Yes, besides that."

The two Shawns chuckled quietly for a moment, trying to regain composure. Younger Shawn looked out the window, gasping slightly from the effort of the laughter, a small grin of nostalgia on his face. "I think … I can handle being without a Gus in my life for a little while. I did go all those years without seeing him. How is this any different?" He looked back at Older Shawn, determined. "I'm still not completely comfortable with living like this, repeating years that I'm not sure I want to repeat, but I guess I'll have to figure it out as I go along."

"You've got a bit of an advantage, though. You literally _know_what lies ahead of you. It's not quite like being a real psychic, but it's probably the closest you'll ever get."

"Maybe…" the teen replied warily. "I was actually thinking of doing something … different in the future. I think I might find another way I could use my gift, _our_gift. I was thinking … I could give college a try."

Older Shawn's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Wow. I honestly didn't expect that. What, uh … what do you think you'll major in? Phsysics?"

"I dunno yet. I'm only a high school sophomore, man. I've got a few years left to decide." Younger Shawn grinned cheekily. "It's just, I want … I wanna be _different._So from here on out, you and I are completely different people. Separate lives, new choices… Everything."

The hollow ring of a bell echoed towards the Blueberry, and Younger Shawn shifted in his seat, looking a little nervous but also eager. It was as if this really was the first day of school for him.

"That's the warning bell," the clone stated, picking up his backpack. "I should probably get going."

"Yeah … alright." Older Shawn sighed as he watched his younger version get out of the car and swing the bag over his shoulder. "Hey, before you go, I was wondering something. Did you want to keep in touch or anything? Maybe not with me, but Jules or Gus…"

Younger Shawn cut him off with a shake of his head. "As much as I miss them already, even Henry and Lassiter, I just … I can't. It's hard enough to know that my old life is a measly half an hour away from here, going on without me as if the last week never happened. What's the point in calling in once a month to remind them that I exist? I think it's better if I become invisible, and just … start over, you know? Let them forget me."

"Well, I can't really say that they'll forget you, especially Juliet. She may not have our type of memory, but she's not likely to wipe the image of you out of her mind."

"Speaking of Juliet…" Younger Shawn shut the passenger side door and leaned inside the open window. His face was stern. "You need to tell her."

Older Shawn's smile fell slowly off his face. "What?"

"You need to tell her the truth, Shawn. I know how you feel about her. I know you better than anyone, and I know how often you think about a future with her. Now that I'm speaking from a forced outsider's point of view, you really need to be honest with her _completely_before this goes one step further. Otherwise, you're going to ruin everything. Trust me, and if I can't have Juliet, then I'll be damned if no version of me gets her."

Older Shawn seemed stunned into silence, his mind reeling over this information. The bell rang again, and this time the students who were still mingling outside rushed towards the doors. Younger Shawn took a step back and straightened up. "Take care of them," he whispered, holding out his fist.

"I will. Good luck in there, Shawn," the fake psychic said, bumping the kid's knuckles with his own.

"I'll be needing all the luck I can get," the boy replied with a chuckle. He turned around and started walking, adjusting the straps on his backpack to make it more comfortable. Suddenly, he stopped and looked over his shoulder at the man in the car. "By the way … my name isn't Shawn anymore."

Older Shawn tilted his head up in surprise. "Really? What'd you change it to?"

The teen grinned mischievously. "Think _21 Jump Street,_" he said, and with one last crooked smile, he made his way inside the school.

Older Shawn – well, back to just Shawn, he supposed – took no less than five seconds to figure out which name he would choose from the old 80's show. He snickered, flipped the gear into drive, and peeled off from the curb to head for the Psych office.

Life might've been filled with confusion and sickness for Younger Shawn, but he had a feeling things would look a little brighter for Tom Hanson Spencer.

* * *

><p>AN-

That's it! I'm done! This is the first multi-chapter fanfiction I've completed, and yes, I plan on writing a sequel.

I don't know when, but the idea is slowly developing in my head.

Please leave a review with your thoughts! I'd really appreciate it!

Farewell!


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